The Rise of the Connected Human Organism

How brain-computer interfaces will change the human story forever.

Predicting the future is never an exact science.

Scale is the main problem we face when we try to do so.

The human brain is the most complex mechanism in the known universe. How can we ever hope to map the interactions between seven billion brains and the various physical and biological phenomena present on the Earth?

The future is emergent. It is not a distinct state of affairs divorced from the realities of today but rather a state that is currently coming into being: a script that the present is continuously creating. Without fully knowing the present, we can never predict the future.

Talk about tricky tasks.

We can, however, predict the future based on prior probabilities and trends. People usually live for 70+ years, so a 21-year old assumes that he has approximately another 50 years. The sun has risen every day for the past six billion or so years; it is likely to rise again tomorrow.

In this morass of shifting possibilities, I see one that excites and scares me in equal measure: the connection of the human brain to the datasphere (what we call the Internet today).

Such a shift will alter our lives spectacularly, leading to a chain reaction that culminates with our subject today: the rise of the connected human organism.

Let’s start with the first piece of context required to understand this particular possible future:

Situational Abstraction: The Problem with Language

Seven billion plus humans walk the Earth holding tiny universes inside our heads, connected by shared experiences.

Few amongst us lack the archaic shared understanding that light is ‘good’ and darkness, representing the night, is ‘bad.’ We have all experienced adrenaline kicking in, we share common (if not completely similar) sexual experiences, most of us know what a full (or empty) stomach feels like, and everybody sleeps.

Of course, we were all born and are moving constantly and inevitably towards our individual deaths.

Today, most of our conscious communication is linguistic, built upon an extensive conceptual framework. We talk, write, text, and type, all the while not even realizing the existence (let alone limitations) of the linguistic structures we use.

Think about it.

The entirety of our language is built around our worldview: a society of the colorblind would likely have no words for red, green, or yellow. Different societies view time differently: Asian cultures see time as cyclical compared to the linear European view of time.

These differences in worldview translate directly onto language (Sanskrit and Hindi use the same word for tomorrow and yesterday, with modifiers to differentiate between the past and future).

I call this abstraction of information to the environment and to our shared worldview ‘situational abstraction’.

Situational abstraction is what determines whether the woman in short shorts is either a slut or an empowered feminist; whether the teen wearing a leather jacket is a biker or a Hollywood actor; whether the man in robes sitting on the donkey robes is either insane or Jesus Christ himself.

“Don’t judge a book by its cover.”

But what other choice do we have, in the isolated, disconnected worlds inside our heads? We cannot see into anyone’s head, meaning that we can only judge from appearances.

Is there no other option?

The problem with ‘situational abstraction’ is imprecision; an imprecision that worms its way into our language and causes many of our ills today. How many times do we experience miscommunicate straightforward concepts?

More often than you’d think, I bet.

It turns out that humans, while being shockingly similar, are also surprisingly unique. Language (shared concepts and rules woven into verbal form) simply cannot transcend these differences, creating enormous inefficiencies in our communication.

Language, unfortunately, can only communicate concepts that we have already experienced or concepts that we are familiar enough with to conceptualize. I could sit down and explain to you all day what a dog is, but if you have never seen an animal, you will have great trouble understanding me.

Alternatively, I could introduce you to my dog and give you five minutes with it, allowing you to build a conceptualization of the dog linked to the word ‘dog.’ Language consists of a ‘signifier’ (the word ‘dog’) and a ‘signified’ (the concept ‘dog’), and the two have very little in common, except in our minds, as Hjelmslev posited about a century ago.

Communicating tangible concepts is hard enough, but communicating intangible, abstract ideas, becomes close to impossible. How can you ever know whether your ‘love’ for your spouse is any different from someone’s ‘love’ for their dog?

How can you ever know that anyone else is truly alive on the inside and not just an unconscious, lifeless robot who simply responds to external events using prewritten scripts?

Our lack of understanding of others’ inner experience isn’t just an abstract issue — it creates major real-world problems.

How often do men dismiss women as ‘irrational creatures’ without understanding their situational context: their lifelong experience of being the literally physically weaker sex and a propensity to feel and express more and stronger negative emotions?

(Fun exercise for men: imagine living in a society where around half the population is approximately twice as strong as you. Would you be more or less easily scared? Would you be more or less direct in your communication? Would certain behaviors seem much more threatening to you than it does now?)

How often do women say ‘men are dogs’ without understanding the strength and power of the male sexual urge?

Think about situations where you annoy somebody versus situations where somebody annoys you. The former seems (to you) a misunderstanding; if you even realize you annoyed the other person. You probably didn’t mean to hurt them.

The latter, on the other hand, makes you annoyed or even angry. Behind all anger is a ‘perceived provocation, hurt or threat’. You feel as if the other person is provoking, hurting, or threatening you, and the accuracy of your perception stops mattering to you.

Why should there be such a massive difference between the two situations?

It’s very easy to assume that others’ actions are about you, but here’s the harsh truth: they very rarely are.

This belief comes from a form of solipsism — you only experience your own experience of the world, so why should anybody’s experience of the world be any different from yours?

(The same concept applies to most organized religion: the world exists for my salvation. As Nietzsche pointed out so succintly “The ‘salvation of the soul’ — in plain language: ‘the world revolves around me’.)

If you knew, absolutely and undoubtedly and obviously, that everyone had an inner life as rich and deep as yours, would you act the same way towards others?

If you realized that the beggar on the road has an inner life similar to yours, with memories and hopes and fears and feelings just like you, would you be so quick to keep walking?

If Israelis and Palestinians realized just how similar they were; if Republicans and Democrats could share the rich inner tapestry of their individual lives; if Indians and Pakistanis were able to see their inner lives in exacting detail:

Would the world be any different today?

Can We Ever Understand?

Is it possible for us ever to realize the true depth of others’ inner lives?

Almost every major philosopher and psychologist in history speaks of a transpersonal state of consciousness consisting of one major feature; being one with the world and all its inhabitants. Let’s look at some ‘intellectual giants’ who have espoused a belief in or who have documented some form of spiritual or transpersonal experiences:

Plato. Aristotle. Socrates. Plotinus. Adi Shankara (coincidentally, my name originates from his philosophy: Advaita Vedanta, literally translated as ‘not-two’). Raman Maharshi. Sri Aurobindo. Gautama Buddha. Ralph Waldo Emerson. Saint Teresa of Avila. Abraham Maslow. Clare Graves. Beck and Cowan. Carl Jung. Eckhart Tolle. Henry Thoreau. Fyodor Dostoyevsky. Hegel. Habermas. Schopenhauer. Joseph Campbell. Ken Wilbur. Huang Po. Victor Frankl.

Quite a list, isn’t it?

Psychedelics and deep meditation states make it possible for us to experience ‘ego death’ and other ‘altered states of consciousness’ (other means that engender such states are dancing, chanting, hypnosis, etc.)

Do you disagree?

Take 400µg of LSD, and then we’ll talk.

The Connected Human Organism

What do language, psychedelics, and Buddha have to do with the future of humanity? Where does Cyber Sapiens step into the narrative I am weaving?

Let’s face it: a large portion of humanity is incapable (or unwilling) to spend large amounts of energy on meditation, mindfulness, and other paths to transpersonal states of being. Luckily, we don’t need them — we’ve got a more intentional tool.

We have technology.

Today, you can communicate instantly with anyone in almost any part of the globe. You can capture the light bouncing off your face, encode it digitally, and send this encoding over thousands of kilometers through glass fibers slightly thicker than a human hair.

You probably don’t realize how amazing today’s technology is.

You use a smartphone. Communication — the transmission of information — now requires you to stick your hand into your pocket, pull out your phone, unlock it, pull up an app, and voila! As long as you meet a few prerequisites (Internet connection, battery levels, etc.), you can now communicate with any human who has contributed to the Internet, dead or alive.

The Internet folds space and time (at least the past) into a datasphere. Your temporal location doesn’t matter: you can access information contributed hundreds of years ago. Your physical location doesn’t matter: you could be on the Moon, and you would be able to read this (on a very slow connection, but my point still stands.)

“If I have seen further it is by standing on the sholders [sic] of giants.”
— Isaac Newton, 1675.

If Isaac Newton stood on the shoulders of giants, in a time when informational exchange was so greatly limited, what about us, today?

We have seen that almost every major human innovation has facilitated either physical mobility or information exchange among Homo Sapiens. Since the establishment of cyberspace, we have dedicated much of our considerable intellectual ability to make it easier to access the Internet.

Today, cyberspace wars with physical space for our time, energy, and attention. In some parts of the world, people use cyberspace to interact, date, hook up, order food, shop, read, watch movies, commute, and so much more.

The Internet changed the world and will continue changing it for the foreseeable future.

Smart devices are getting easier and easier to use.

Computers limited access to cyberspace to fixed points. Laptops allowed you to access this new world from anywhere. Blackberries brought push notifications to (mostly) businesspersons. Apple brought the smartphone to the masses of the United States of America. Google, with Android, brought smartphones to the masses of the world.

Somewhere during these paradigm shifts, Amazon said ‘let there be Alexa!’

All of a sudden, you didn’t have to type out questions and read answers — you could ask for information or issue commands verbally. Virtual assistants existed before Alexa, but Amazon made them mainstream.

What comes next?

A brain-computer interface.

Today, we walk around with two cognitive processors: one in our heads and one in our pockets.

You no longer need to remember anything, perform mental mathematical calculations, or rely on spoken language for communication. Smartphones allow us to offload cognitive and communicative tasks to the silicon in our smartphones, ostensibly so we can focus on living our lives.

People say that smartphones make us less human.

‘So what?’ I respond.

Every technological breakthrough for the last 2000 years has made us less ‘human’ (compared to life before said breakthrough). Every major technological step has changed us in fundamental ways. Those who make this argument are actually saying ‘x will make us different from what we are now’, where x can be any technological milestone e.g. language, fire, electricity, television, smartphones, etc.

That’s not to say that smartphones don’t cause problems.

They do, and we need to figure out how to solve these problems. We need to figure out how we can live fulfilling lives because of these devices and not despite them. We need to figure out exactly what part of ‘being human’ they take away and decide whether we are okay with losing that part.

But these problems don’t change the fact that smartphones are the next step in the story of mankind: one of the first steps in the age of the connected human organism.

Back to our question: what comes next?

The Brain Computer-Interface

Silicon (or another computing variant) will inevitably make its way into our brains. Processing devices are getting smaller and smaller, and eventually, they will become small enough to fit inside (or on) our bodies.

Why carry a bulky smartphone when you could have a chip in your head? Or hand?

External computing power will have to go internal if we want to avoid replacement or displacement by Artificial Intelligence, which, by all accounts, will have cognitive and communicative capabilities far beyond ours.

The average global Internet speed is 9.1Mbps. Considering that a character in C (a popular programming language) is one byte, and roughly estimating a word to contain six characters, a computer can transmit 1.5 million words per second.

5G networks operate at a minimum peak download speed of 20Gbps. 6G might double or triple these speeds.

You do the math.

How much information (in words) can you transmit in a second? Compare that to computers’ communication speeds, and you begin to see just how outclassed we might be.

“To avoid becoming like monkeys, humans must merge with machines.”
— Elon Musk, 2018.

Think, for a second, about what it would mean to connect our brains to the Internet.

What would it do to our day-to-day existence?

Imagine a world where you can communicate not only your emotions and thoughts but also their depth and profundity.

Words are a flat, two-dimensional representation of what is inside our heads — imagine a world where our true depth shone freely and obviously to all. Imagine being able to communicate concepts without moving a muscle: everything would be done from inside your head (or offloaded to the cloud).

Imagine the entire world of human information not at your fingerprints, but inside your head. Imagine telepathy and telekinesis becoming commonplace. Imagine switching on your lightbulbs with a thought. Sending a message to your friend across the Atlantic without having to lift a finger.

Imagine downloading a book to your brain and having it seep into your unconscious as you go about your day. Imagine contributing your biological processing power to a distributed computing structure hard at work solving the hardest problems of the universe.

Imagine a world where every eye is a camera; where you can livestream the feed from your optic nerve or take a picture to capture what’s in front of your eyes. Imagine taking a selfie by connecting to your friend’s optic nerve and capturing the image they see of you*.

*These are hypothetical scenarios, not definite predictions of how BCI technology will develop.

Imagine an operating system you control with your brain, sending input directly into your sensory system. Such technology would give an entirely new meaning to Augmented Reality and further break down the barriers between the Internet and our physical world.

We would have to rethink governance as it exists today. Archaic social structures would break down, with new ones rising to take their place.

I imagine the barriers between humans breaking down even further. Globalization is already at play through existing technology — many of us already see ourselves more as global citizens than as followers of any particular state, ethnicity, race, religion, or ideology.

A BCI (brain-computer interface) would accelerate this process, linking us even tighter with bonds forged from our similarities, leading to the rise of a human population so tightly integrated, that from outside, it would look like a single organism.

How long would it take the combined mental capacities of 7 billion humans to reach Mars? To reach the stars? To solve the deep mysteries underlying physics? To eradicate world hunger? To fix climate change?

To figure out the meaning to life (if such actually exists)?

What do you get when you combine an Elon Musk, a Stephen Hawking, and a Terrence Tao?

We could very well find out.

The craziest part of all of this is that we will likely see it happen within the century.

Elon Musk claims that his company, Neuralink, will soon release a brain-machine interface. A dozen other tech companies (Facebook, Kernel, NeuroSky, Emotiv, Mindmaze, Openwater, NeuroVista, and many more) are pouring billions of dollars into researching the technology. These companies are currently working on health and neuroscientific applications, important steps to a brainwave-reliant operating system.

If you were born around the year 2000, you will definitely use some form of a BCI before you die.

I am not naïve. I believe that we will have to overcome great pathologies before we can benefit from the fruits of this technology.

Christian fundamentalism will fight tooth and nail against this ‘mark of the beast.’ Nationalists will try to subvert this technology to their own uses, forcing their particular brand of morality on us. Cyberwarfare will become even deadlier as hackers will find ways to interfere directly with our brain.

You could just as easily reverse my earlier question. How long would it take the combined brainpower of humanity to destroy the Earth? To poison nature beyond redemption? To dream up tortures and tribulations far beyond anything we can currently imagine?

Here’s what I believe.

I believe that the world of the future will be neither a utopia nor a dystopia. Similar to today, it will be a world that lies somewhere in the middle.

The future may sound scary, but imagine describing the world today to someone living in the 18th century.

Steel snakes that traverse entire continents. Tubes that roar into the heavens on tongues of flame. Little glass rectangles into which we stare for hours. An invisible, intangible substance that we use to transmit light and sound around the globe. Metal carriages that move at speeds of up to 200kph and belch smoke from their behinds.

Our hypothetical 18th-century friend would probably either break down crying or burn you at the stake.

If there is one thing we have always feared, it is the unknown.

I believe that the problems of today’s world will seem minute and laughable to the denizens of the not-so-distant future. They will probably be grappling with their own problems, problems that we may not even be able to imagine today.

I believe that we will (in the long run) avoid losing ourselves in the shared worldspace of the human organism. I believe that we will unleash creative capacities and potentials we cannot even dream of today, establishing ourselves as a firmly dominant species that will stand together with Artificial Intelligence as an equal.

I am an optimist

What do you believe?

Note:
This essay was originally published on Medium on May 7th, 2019.

June 9, 2020June 9, 2020

Paean to Kĩrĩ Nyaga

Alone and rugged, brings tears to eye,
Broken stone spear tip touches sky,
White-flecked peaks push mind to fly,
To majestic abode of ancient Ngai;

Behind feathered clouds peeks blue sky,
Radiance sun-founded blinds man’s eye,
Green verdant forests carpet-like lie,
Wind flows sings screams never shy.

Crow caws, bird sings, tree undulates,
Eye and mind time at different rates,
Another tear rolls down soul’s gates,
For mere words forever fail nature’s states.

Majestic, magnificent, old beyond measure,
His sight itself an incredible treasure,
Silent in earth-spanning sky’s embrasure,
In him world-weary minds find leisure.

Human story circles back to self,
Thus I cycle back to soul’s shell,
Rock spire-seated, mind weaves spell,
Invisible motion to where thee dwell.

Note:
This poem was originally published on Medium on Mar. 29, 2020.

June 9, 2020June 9, 2020

Answers?

Together we sit, dance deep on the brink;
Eyes meet; breaths prance in sync;

An intimacy; no need to disrobe;
Thus do we see; behind this teary globe:

Lies a person like me;
Vast and infinite is she;
A dreamer like me

Unknowable, unconquerable, and unquenchable;
Her butterfly mind counterpoint to my stable.

This poem is but a story, nay, a parable;
The cipher not caught; ’tis mere babble.

She turns away; I look even deeper;
Would you run? Would she?
Does thee burn? Is it for me?
She flees my sway; I pull ever closer.

A sharp flame rises; the night darkens;
The moment suffices; the soul harkens.

She is my muse; my rhythm and my blues;
Is she but a ruse? A silently smoldering lit fuse?

’Tis the story of me;
A yearning for the sea;
The quest to be free

Heart of crisis; shifting soul of the Pisces.
Blue dawn rises; mind still surmises;

Breathe, stillness, silence; do you see?
Chaos, perfect balance; as all things must be.

Note:
This poem was originally published on Medium on Dec 25, 2019.

June 9, 2020June 9, 2020

A Dragon Awakens

**Note**
This article was originally published on Medium on Dec. 18, 2019. It was originally titled ‘The Awakening’.
**End Note**

My cave trembles under the tremendous assault of battle magic. I instinctively barrel outside and lash out both physically and magically. Bodies and blood fly, and I realize I am under attack by humans.

I curse my luck.

The damn vermin will never leave me alone now. I will either have to kill all of them or relocate my cave. They may be tiny and underpowered, but we dragons have always admired their tenacity.

But why do they attack me?

I will probably never know — the motivations of the tiny creatures are as alien as those of the starriders.

My throat constricts as a powerful force clamps around it. I laugh in disbelief. We discovered the three magicks, developed them for centuries, built our cities around them, and these creatures think they can fight me using it? They would have a better chance of defeating me if they threw pebbles at me.

Perhaps one would hit me in my remaining eye and blind me.

Behind my incredulity, I feel another emotion rising — one I had thought lost to me. Anger comes slowly to me but I know from the old days that my rage is something to be feared.

Dark thoughts tumble through my mind, memories I have suppressed for all these years.

I remember the last battle of the Second Drakonian War. I remember my fall from the sky. I remember seeing my mate fall after me and the ambition in my heart turning to horror. I remember the crater I created when I let loose, the cries and screams as I lost my mind and killed without mercy or compunction, reason deserting me as I slaughtered friend and foe, dragon and human. I remember the horror in my brood’s eyes as I killed them one by one.

I did not care.

I had just lost my love.

I remember the pity tainting the air as my friends looked upon my flight from the great roosts of Dawnflight. The great dragonlord himself, exiled from the same city he ruled for a thousand years. An unprecedented event, but an unavoidable one. I had proven myself unstable, erratic. Who knew when I would lose my mind again?

The council spoke, and I left Dawnflight in disgrace.

All this flashes through my mind in seconds. The old anger rises in my breast and I know that my passion is not dead yet. I am no mammal, to cower under attack. I shall not run.

Not again.

My attack is swift and deadly. Three out of the four battle mages lie dead, and a healer frantically attempts to revive the fourth human. Rows of soldiers start marching towards me, the ones in the front row shaking. I recall my studies on humans and smile as I realize the strange, single-scented creatures are scared. I roar in hilarity and several soldiers break and run as they realize I am laughing. They are scared?

They should be.

I pick up the healer effortlessly and levitate him to eye level. I search my mind for the Ariendale link and push into his mind. I overestimate my strength, and he screams, his head exploding into a red mist. My scales ruffle in disgust and I turn my focus to the surviving mage. The soldiers’ faces look whiter. Several more seem to be running away from me. Evasive maneuvers or retreat? I cannot tell.

I do not understand these mammals.

I flap my wings and soar over them and the soldiers launch massive bolts after me. I roar in amusement. I am no ordinary drake, to be brought down by mechanical ballistae.

I am a dragon and I show the soldiers the magnitude of their error. I unleash my full strength on the humans. Even a full-grown dragon would have difficulty resisting my attacks.

The humans stand no chance.

Some die where they stand. Others die running. Regardless, they die. Massive swathes of the ground are blackened by my fires. Great trees topple or explode into shards that cut through the corpses. I feel no satisfaction. They are too far beneath me to allow for any real battle.

The mage who first attacked me remains alive, but barely. Red liquid (blood, I remember from my human studies) spreads out in a perfect circle around him. I rack my brain for human healing spells, but I have never focused too much on healing. I have always been better at dealing death and destruction.

I try the Ariendale link again. This time, it works.

‘Why did you attack me?’

The human mutters something about a princess and kidnapping. Nonplussed, I toss him aside and crush him underfoot. I roar as the numbness in my heart lifts and I feel more alive than I have in decades. I know what I have to do now. Before I set out to Dawnflight, I glance back at the dead humans.

Strange creatures. What would I do with a princess?

June 9, 2020June 9, 2020

Two Phantoms in an Inn

**Note**
This article was originally published on Medium on Nov. 27, 2019.
**End Note**

Our tale begins with two friends sitting at an uncomfortably warm and poorly lit inn, sipping the watered-down ale that the bastard innkeeper is overcharging them for. They complain about the weather, their health, traders, and generally everything. You look at them once and nothing stands out. Like most people, you don’t give either a second glance. However, you notice some rather interesting details if you make it to the second glance.

While both seem animated at first, their arms are rather stiff for two conversationalists. Their hands hover around their belts. Their surprisingly hard-bitten eyes constantly search the room as they punctuate their conversations with uproarious laughter. If something gives them away, it is their eyes.

One lacks an arm.

Yes, it is strange to see a one-armed man seated at the inn buying cheap swill — the fringes of the Empire are not friendly to amputees.

The innkeeper lounges at the counter, continuously shooting dirty glances at the men — he knows they mean bad news. Further still, you see a man propped up on a corner seat, cursing incoherently and scratching his head as he holds a one-way conversation. The two friends take notice of him and, as they watch, he slowly turns to face them. Delight, indecision, and horror war on his face, and he stands up, seemingly unsure whether he wants to back out of the room or throw himself at the two men.

The inn is empty, setting the stage for the unfolding drama.

The innkeeper curses and starts as he prepares to intercept the madman, but a gesture from the amputee stops him in his tracks. The innkeeper’s face twists in an ugly grimace and he grudgingly spits in the amputee’s general direction — to be ordered by one who is not whole is degrading to him. He snarls and turns, leaving the madman to his fate.

The madman walks towards the two friends, his legs twitching and shaking as if he does not remember how to walk.

The air is humming with tension.

The man with both arms unsheathes his sword and places it on the table. The amputee cracks his neck and waits warily. Their conversation has died down — their target approaches them.

The madman continues gibbering but the anguish in his eyes belies the incoherency of his words. He knows something is happening to him. He knows he is not well. Tears well up in his eyes and he makes an attempt to regain control over his traitorous body. His lips trembling so hard he can barely be understood, he squeaks out a single word.

“Please,” he moans, before sinking to the floor in pain and weariness.

The amputee redundantly prompts his trainee to pay attention with a look. He squints and seems to move, although no motion is visible. The innkeeper cringes back, the trainee exhales as he sees the act, and the madman screams as the thing inside him comprehends the situation.

The trainee hovers over the madman as the thing inside him tries to struggle, but it is far too late. He sees that the amputee too strong for the demon. He sees his superior capture it, absorbing it into his phantom arm. This is the first time he is seeing the process. Fear and awe course through his system.

Their job is done.

The amputee gestures to his subordinate and both men walk out of the door, the amputee tossing a couple of coins into the inn with his nonexistent arm. The innkeeper realizes they are gold coins, enough to buy his inn a couple of times over.

The ex-madman remains on the floor, gasping for air and crying tears of joy. The innkeeper mutters darkly and slams the door shut, all the while directing even darker glances at the man writhing on the floor.

Deep inside, under the layer of superstition and conditioning, a deeper fear begins to take root. What has he seen? What could it mean?

He knows he will probably never know, and the dissatisfaction pulls at his heart as he locks up and kicks the man out. He wants nothing to do with the magic of the Empire.

“What could it all mean?” he ponders, late at night, as sleep eludes his weary grasp.

“What could it all mean?”

June 9, 2020June 9, 2020

The Day the Music Died

**Note**
This article was originally published on Medium on Nov. 24, 2019.
**End Note**

When NASA first found out how bad the meteor strike would be, they kept it a secret from the general public. At least until a do-gooder decided that the information was too important to be hidden and leaked the news to the press.

Dozens of national space agencies counterchecked the calculations. The vice president looked like he was about to throw up as he announced what was basically the end of the world. He walked out of the conference room, pulled out an unregistered firearm, and put a bullet in his brain.

People noticed.

Panic and pandemonium erupted around the world. Social conflict rose on an unprecedented scale as people turned against each other, first on class lines, then on race lines, then on religious lines.

Civilization had collapsed. We slowly reverted to the beasts we had always been suppressing. The final paroxysms of the dying organism that was humanity were the worst. Cities fell, societies collapsed, entire countries turned into gigantic conflagrations in minutes.

The observant reader will even now be asking me about the enclaves, but keep in mind that almost nobody knew about them at the time.

A few humans survived. They were lucky, of course, that a group of intellectuals, activists, and general do-gooders across the world spent their last days deactivating the nukes.

Why they did that was a question nobody could answer. Why would you spend your final days disarming nukes when the world was going to end in a week?

I watched the mess from my satellite uplink and wept. BBC stopped broadcasting news three days into the chaos, but some enterprising soul kept up a constant stream of 80s and 90s hits that we listened to as we went about our daily tasks. There was little chaos amongst us, for we were the few who had renounced the earth.

We hadn’t believed it at first. Then we raged, first at each other and then at the world. We tried bargaining, sending messages to out-system AIs to no avail. We were in the penultimate stage now. Despair put dangerous questions in our minds, but we had been selected for mental toughness.

Nobody succumbed to despair.

One or two made trouble, but the psychologists rooted them out quickly enough. We forced them out of our little bubble with tears in our eyes.

As we neared the fateful hour, the chaos seemed to subside, as if humanity had exhausted itself with its death throes and was now merely waiting for the end. We watched with bated breath, hoping against hope that the agencies were wrong — but knowing deep in our hearts that the earth was doomed. Our physicists had confirmed it, and they were never wrong.

A few minutes to the end, as the faint strands of music drifted to my ears, I heard Jan scream in disbelief. I quickly made my way to my station, and the blinking notification icon almost knocked me to the floor. I had thought us forgotten.

My, my, Miss American Pie…

‘Open it!’

My sharp command snapped him out of his daze. As he clicked on the icon, the message loaded.

“However long it takes — save us.”

Jan stared at me, and I almost couldn’t bear the hope in his eyes. The others filed in, ready for anything after Jan’s scream. Whispers spread through the group as the message disseminated across the crew, and I could see everyone’s spirits rise.

We had reached the depths of despair, but the message gave us something that, at that moment, I felt was the most beautiful thing ever.

Hope.

As Jan composed a reply, I heard the last strains of the song. I couldn’t help but feel their purport.

The day the music died…

As the music faded and the meteor hurtled ever closer, a second message popped up.

A single word.

PLEASE.

June 9, 2020June 9, 2020

Under a Moonless Night

**Note**
This article was originally published on Medium on Oct. 30, 2019.
**End Note**

There was no moon, and the world was all the more beautiful for it.

Pinpricks of twinkling light punctured the utter darkness. He saw them everywhere he looked, ancient stars whose light had traveled an unimaginable distance to assail his mortal eyes. He gazed into the vast night sky, unlittered by clouds, and lost himself.

The constellations looked exactly the same as they had during those long nights he spent staring up as a child.

“It happens to all of us.

We grow up. We grow old. We remember our childhood. We remember the warmth and comfort. We remember the love and freedom. We remember how it was and compare to how it is.”

He turned his attention to the girl beside him. Her warmth astonished him every time he touched her. The blood pulsing through her body screamed to him.

“HERE IS LIFE, ” it bellowed indomitably, “HERE SOMEONE EXISTS.”

How could her very presence not amaze her when his own never failed to do the same? How often had he looked upon his own hand and marveled at the magnificence of him, the sheer artistry of his being, the interplay of muscle and vein and nerve that allowed him to function as he did?

This was why he came out here.

The wondrous joy of the night sky, untamed by artificial light for hundreds of kilometers in either direction. If he could, he would make it compulsory for every human, all seven billion of them, to visit this spot once in their lifetime.

“But humans take what is and make it theirs.

’Tis both their greatest strength and their biggest weakness.”

How he missed home. How he wished he could return. But there was no going back.

“Going back is an idea, a concept that never matches up to reality. It is the drive fueled by that most pernicious and tricky part of human nature: hope.”

What keeps us going every day but the hope of a better tomorrow? Why do we not collectively lose our minds, flip the world off, and go out in a defiant blaze of glory? Because we hope that tomorrow will be better than today.

And so Leo hoped.

Now her breath drew his attention. Her strong, steady breath. He hadn’t wanted to bring her here at first. But she had insisted, and he could find no reason to deny her except his own unease at the idea.

She didn’t get it. The entire idea was foreign to her. The night sky? Constellations? Why would anyone care?

Which made it all the sweeter that she had come all this way, sacrificed a tiny portion of her finite life, just to be close to him. It made him want to cry, but when he was out here, everything made him want to cry.

He never cried.

She murmured sleepily as he brought his lips to her throat. He felt the familiar stirring in his loins. Her breath quickened at his touch.

He couldn’t help himself. He couldn’t control himself. He bit deep into her neck and drank and drank and drank, oh the sweet sweet lifeblood that he lived for, he could feel it restoring him, he could feel the thundering roar of her heartbeat in his body and it grew and grew and consumed him…

And suddenly, it was over.

He inclined his head over her respectfully, thanking her for providing him with the lifeblood he needed to maintain his long and storied life. In this remote location, nobody would discover a body.

Just like that, she was gone. Snuffed out like a candle. No goodbyes, no tears, no last words. One moment she was, the next she wasn’t. The universe continued existing. The stars still twinkled, the planets still shone, comets and meteors still trailed under the dome of the night sky.

It made him want to cry, but when he was out here, everything made him want to cry.

He never cried.

June 9, 2020

Nuclear Magery

**Note**
This story is the third of a trio I wrote in 2017. I originally titled it “The Mage”. I think this is easily the best of the three.
**End Note**

What would he do with it?

That was the question, wasn’t it?

It had taken him ages to pore over the dusty tomes in the Great Library, but he had finally stumbled upon it.

The books spoke of a time before sorcery, before Will-sapping magic was available to everyone – at least to some extent.

They spoke of tiny particles that made up everything. Different substances had different kinds making them up, and they combined in different ways to create different things.

He was skeptical at first – the old ones had certainly believed in these particles, but did they still exist?

The old ones had warped reality, allowing us to change existence with our very thoughts. Had they warped the nature of reality as well?

But he didn’t give up.

He was a mage, after all. Chosen as much for his sharpness as for his affinity for the talent, he was no ordinary person.

He stuck to his task long after anyone sane would have given up. But finally, his search bore fruit.

It all began with a simple combination spell. A flash of Will burned hot in his veins, and he felt faint for a moment before the adrenaline kicked in. It was a simple enough procedure, designed to provide the caster extra energy after casting a spell.

And it wasn’t even necessary. There was no result. Nothing at all, as far as he could see.

But then why that flash of Will?

He went back to the dusty tomes. Days and days passed, and there were times when he felt his head would split.

But he didn’t give up.

He was a mage, after all.

Until finally, he understood. Something had manifested due to his combination spell, but that something was much too small to be seen or felt.

He tried again and again. For months he kept at it.

He poured all his Will into it.

He was one of the strongest, and he was unknowingly practising.

Until one day, he managed to do it. The flash of Will. The moment of faintness. The adrenaline kicking in.

He thought he had failed again until he looked down at his hands.

They were wet.

—

With concrete proof of success and countless possibilities before him, he ventured out into the world.

He gathered money and power, but always, he was learning more and more.

He built a circle – twelve people who he started teaching. Many did not survive and fell by the wayside, sapped and drained of Will. But he maintained the circle of twelve, and slowly started teaching them the basics.

Until one day, the emperor struck.

Shaken by the mage’s ever-increasing power, he ordered his chancellor to turn one of the circle. He knew he could not openly march upon the mage, for the mage’s power was formidable.

And one of the twelve was bought. Money, land, and a title was promised.

But the mage toiled on, struggling to unravel all the mysteries of the universe.

Until one day, the traitor smuggled poison into his mentor’s drink. But the drink did not reach its intended victim – instead, it killed another of the circle.

The mage was enraged, and he followed the poison’s trail to the traitor using far more mundane magical means.

He tore the traitor apart from the inside out, gifting him a prolonged and unmerciful death. But before the traitor died, he spilled all the secrets of the Emperor, hoping for mercy.

That day, no mercy was shown.

The remaining members of the circle watched as their mentor killed one of their own. They watched as he withdrew into a shell of his own making. They watched, and they feared.

But fear slowly turned to anger, and anger into self-righteous rage.

One day, they confronted the mage in their combined power, battering him back with waves of Will-shaped weapons. And while the mage could disintegrate them, he had no direct control over Will itself. For Will was of man, an ugly imposition on the nature of reality.

And when he realized he could not win, he wept. He wept as Will-cast attacks broke his body. He wept as Will-shaped weapons bled him dry.

He wept as he died.

And as he died, his mind started doing the unthinkable, the one thing he had sworn never to do. He had only a smidgen of Will remaining, but it was enough.

One particle was all it would take. One particle…

It was not an easy task, but he did it.

He was a mage, after all.

—

That night, the Empire fell. That night, the Great Library was torn asunder.

That night, the circle was crushed into actual dust, blowing past the remains of the once mighty Empire it could have ruled.

That night, a good man died.

June 9, 2020June 9, 2020

The Urge

**Note**
This story is the second of a trio I wrote in 2017. It’s interesting to see how my writing has developed in the meantime.
**End Note**

Who am I?

A question I asked myself often enough when growing up.

Do you normal people think of such things?

I am not normal.

The fact that I’m answering a question I asked myself should give you a clue or two. A clue or two… is that alliteration? Or rhyme?

Anyway, why am I abnormal?

It’s all because of the urge.

They all told me that it would end up hurting someone. But it’s an intrinsic part of me, so I guess that means I would be the one hurting someone.

They blabbered on about masters and servants but, truthfully, I wasn’t even listening. Why would it be a bad master? How would it even be my master?

Why would it be a bad master? How would it even be my master?

Right now, the very notion is laughable. But back then, it made sense. Perfect, terrifying sense. I knew that I was an abomination. I knew the madness that resided in my soul.

And sense wasn’t enough to hold me back.

It started small. Very small, with matchsticks and magnifying lenses. And that was normal. Every kid plays with it. Everyone is fascinated by the bewitching dance of destruction that fire portends.

But for me, it went further than mere fascination. It went deeper than a passing fancy.

Each time, I went a little further. First with pages out of a notebook. Then with old clothes and rags. Once an old car in the woods.

That was a bad time. It caused a forest fire that raged for half a day. Maybe not much in the grand scheme of forest fires, but still… how many animals died? Did any person perish in the fire I called up?

To this day, I don’t know. I ran. Ran and ran until I knew not where I was.

But then, everything changed.

The call came.

It came as a tingling sensation in my veins. A half-formed thought roaring through my body. A nascent power awakening.

You may laugh if you want to.

I would too, if I heard a stranger saying this. But I’m merely telling you what happened.

What was I saying?

Oh yes… pyromancy.

What happens when a myth materializes within you? What happens when the manifestation of that myth aligns with your deepest, darkest, desires?

What happens when a pyromaniac discovers pyromancy?

I happen.

This is my secret. No longer do I have to fear a flame. No longer do I have to hope for the best every time the urge calls. No longer do I have to worry about my loved ones.

It started small. Very small, with sparks bending to my will. And that was abnormal, very abnormal. Nobody can control that raging force of destruction. Nobody should be able to.

Each time, I went a little further. First with embers in my room. Then with fist-sized flames in the woods. Once I roamed an entire day with a ball of flame suspended in my pocket.

My power could be used for greatness. There would be countless applications. Not to mention that my very existence would imply the existence of others.

Others like me.

They could generate infinite amounts of electricity using our power. They would find dozens of medical applications.

But they would push us. Scientists and militaries alike are never satisfied with boundaries. There is always a great evil to conquer; there is always an end that justifies the means.

They would help me break my constraints. They would push me to near-infinite power.

They would turn me into a weapon of mass destruction.

And that I cannot condone. That alone, I fear.

But till then, till they find me, I live simply.

No heroics. No supervillains. No deaths of loved ones.

For I am selfish.

But even more than that, I am happy.

I am content.

June 9, 2020June 9, 2020

Rebirth

**Note**
This story is the first of a trio I wrote in 2017. It’s interesting to see how my writing has developed in the meantime.
**End Note**

He walked through the streets of the burning city, mind numb, body sagging.

If anyone had seen him, they’d have wondered how and why this once-revered defender of the city had fallen so far.

But he did not wonder. He did not think. He did not care.

For him, it was catharsis.

And under the excitement and exultation, a small part of him knew he wouldn’t survive this.

Was this madness? This bleak, desolate maze his mind wandered in, was it insanity?

It was just a dream. He would wake up any moment now and find himself with her. His baby. How he loved her.

But no. Even the bleakness was better than that.

He couldn’t bear the pain that ravaged him, worse than any of the physical injuries he had suffered. He couldn’t think of her, not now, not never.

He was old. And now he was broken as well.

He tossed his head back and laughed.

***********************************************************************************************

A loud laugh broke the silence that had settled over the burning city like a shroud over a corpse. An apt analogy, he thought, since the city was more dead than alive.

Those residents who hadn’t died in the initial waves of destruction had fled the hero’s wrath. All that remained were those too weak, helpless, or hopeless to run.

And then there were people like him. Those too mad to escape. He was mad, wasn’t he? That’s what they had told him in Hell. He hadn’t believed it at first, but they couldn’t all have been lying to him. Or could they?

The continuing laughter snapped him out of his reverie as it changed. It almost sounded like sobs. But beneath the sadness, the anguish, there was another note. What was it?

Oh.

Hilarity.

Was there another madman around? Maybe he ought to talk to him. Madman to madman. That would be fun.

He rose and walked towards the laughter.

***********************************************************************************************

A figure approached him. No fear, no anger, no judgement, nothing in his gait or face. He couldn’t see the stranger’s face.

The stranger peered down at him.

“Why do you laugh?”

He considered the question. His daughter was dead. His wife would have been better off dead. His beloved city in flames. And yet he laughed?

Was he insane?

“Because I’m mad.”

The stranger looked at him for a long five seconds. He idly wondered whether he should disintegrate the stranger. Why not?

As he began to form the thought that would accomplish the deed, the stranger did something entirely unexpected.

He broke into laughter. Low, pensive, chilling laughter.

But underneath the pensiveness, below the chill, he heard something else. What was it?

Oh.

Hilarity.

Finally, someone who understood. Finally, a friend. His old friends were de- no that hurt too much as well. Better to be mad than to experience such anguish. Was he mad?

He joined the stranger in his laughter.