Blik

In the presence of a satisfied project developer for whom a word is worth just as much as a contract, Slae makes a few swinging movements in the air and then, like a faith healer, strikes her right hand out towards the earth.

SlaeWe must be able to move in at the beginning of next month, monsieur.

No problem. In a rented meeting room of a chic, chic or chic hotel where Graediva demonstrates how promotion works best, the dropouts have already been sent back without stating a reason to the agency they came from. The freelancers get the full measure of nothing. The remaining candidates with the best falsified work history do not care.

GraedivaJust show, and always keep looking friendly, right, also, without bare teeth. No duck face. Service-minded. Never submissive. Once more, Dirnen.

Meanwhile mortal Julius does during the lunch break what he is best at. The nice thing is not single. The question then is whether it lacks attention or confirmation. Call it sewing on. Sometimes the wondering makes the human precisely bad.

JuliusUntil what time do we have, beauty?

Rinse gets nothing of all this. In the blue roller that is fully electrically driven and as far as intelligence is concerned also certified it goes softly humming almost over asphalt on the main road. First still merging.

RinseYes.

Relatively shortly after merging at dangerously low speed follows the overtaking of a combination that has for ages no longer had to undergo border control.

RinseYes.

A matrix board. Zippering is required before the disappearance of a lane.

RinseYes.

While the blue roller does what sensors lead to, Rinse almost becomes overstrained by checking the systems. The systems work, but handing over control gives no rest and therefore makes nervous. A known type in a known brand cuts off rather hard braking.

RinseYes.

In front and behind room for manoeuvre is lost. On the other side it is definitely not much better. A notification from the blind spot.

RinseYes, I also know that those people cannot drive, Roller.

At the first charging point and with a view of a field of a farmer who in terms of income stands at the bottom of the food chain Rinse also carefully goes through the manual or user instructions. Everything that can go out in, on and about Roller goes out.

RinseSo.

No more bells and whistles. Rinse steers personally towards rest. It goes back in time. Almost in Friesland where it can also be warm Rinse recognises in the landscape something of home. Call it birth soil. Here and beyond the television tower Rinse drives in Appelscha on to the Vaart with water that through the bottom still looks black. Through BeuqBoxz Rinse revises his conclusion.

RinseI am a machine. People are machines. People make each other believe something. I must make people believe something if I do not want to be a machine among the liars.

Rinse takes a decision that Jonkje never fully reached. It concerns finding a kind of humanity that even the smartest computer can keep searching for, but will probably remain stuck in without any delivered proof. Rinse misses Jonkje.

RinseI must do ab-so-lute-ly nothing.

Rinse thinks long and deeply. Only with imagination is the circle perfectly round. No atoms on the surface.

Pure and perfect energy, and it wants to be seen. An implosion. It went so fast that even the smallest particles got no time to realise what happened to it in space.

It wants back to where it came from. Gravity proves that. Call it love, or holding of.

It is irrational. Rinse who only philosophises and factually therefore does nothing goes softly humming over cobbles in herringbone pattern. Still before a given range is at the end the underground car park below ground level receives the so-called Roller with Rinse as driver.

Partly 3D-printed, but mainly built from spare parts, a copy of the damaged ride that in scale is also twelve times too small to be real makes computer-controlled little figures on the top layer of a kind of coating. Rinse sees that.

RinseVincuit?

No answer. My buffers are almost full. Not my enamoured or entangled qubits, but the higher located networking computers that continuously send questions and process answers have clearly run amok. Forming sentences with words also proceeds with difficulty. Lying next to the sports bag full of banknotes the inactive robot with boobs does not care.

RinseSlae?

No answer. Rinse steps into the lift whose door is open. The copy of the damaged ride follows on a set of old and used foam.

A non-delivering webshop is to blame for that. It goes automatically one floor lower where two long mechanical arms immediately carry out a kind of pit stop. A 3D-printer prints.

The battery containing a questionable kind of graphene goes onto the charger. Computer numerical control or for short CNC controls a tool machine spreading grinding and fine sawdust that quickly and accurately makes something in aluminium.

RinseSo.

The transmitter hangs from a kind of cable above a workbench on which light shines. No magnifying glass. No human-like robot that does hospitality and moreover something with security.

With both hands stuck in the pockets our mechanic who is also a driver looks at more than he has thought up. After the remounting follows a next computer-controlled run. It repeats itself until the difference in lap times is almost negligible.

RinsePure concentration.

Rinse wants to interrupt the process, but does not do that. With the transmitter in the hand Rinse follows the modified ride again to the underground car park below ground level and takes over the control. No success.

The steering is too direct and the balance asks for a certain driving style that simply cannot be made one’s own. The driven lap times prove that. Still ride and ride are evenly matched in speed.

The difference lies in the ability to repeat the extreme time after time. The sun sets. Rinse does not see that.

RinseSo.

More or less defeated, but satisfied with the eventual result our mechanic who is also a driver is clearly tired of the going up and down. Sitting in the lift heavy eyelids simply lose the battle against sleep. A kind of limp the body collapses and falls slowly over.

The chin pushes against the chest and fixed in space and time of this existence hands as fists hold happiness captive. A smile fixes the blissful features around the mouth. Call it foetal position.

Unpainted nails go through the hair.

SlaeHey, darling.

In Rinse’s head Slae’s voice in the here and now comes from a dream. It is different. In the lift bare feet after supporting on the toes go back and forth.

On the border area between wake and sleep Rinse recognises the pair of feet that belongs to Graediva by the lifting of the heels. Slae looks down on our disturbed and suffering from hypnagogic hallucinations satiated one. It is strange.

No fixed wig, glued eyelashes, coloured lenses or other artfully applied disguise. Reality sinks in.

SlaeHere I am.

A trail of moisture causes a kind of panic and pure shame. With drawn-up legs and the arms wrapped around them Rinse who is definitely not slow of understanding sits cold-sweating in a corner of the lift. Graediva returns with the sports bag full of banknotes. The inactive robot with boobs may for the time being remain lying where it lies.

GraedivaI smell something here.

Lightly struck by the remarked something Slae also finely sniffs her nose. Where else than in BeuqBoxz can our mistress of advanced pleasure and dissecting mindfucking slayer at the same time think that the smell somewhere in the lift first must have gone up and then around. No problem. Slae grants Rinse rather empathetically some space, and time.

RinseI’ll be right back.

Under the shower that in emergencies can rinse off dangerous substances the one arisen from the other flows unhindered through. Rinse has never experienced this before. Call it wetware.

No washed clothes lie ready. Dressed in white as a perfect laboratory technician in a long protective coat Rinse taps against the glass that keeps the chewing into ones and zeros sterile. Graediva and Slae have not said that they have gone here.

Our human-like robot that does hospitality and moreover something with security has pointed the way to our searching Rinse. Through a kind of lock between two spaces whose air must not or as little as possible be mixed it continues on the fourth floor below ground level. Above this the robot with boobs hangs again where it hung.

GraedivaBetter, like this.

Rinse pushes a forgotten button through a buttonhole. It is surreal.

GraedivaDo you begin first, or I, pop?

Slae passes her turn to Graediva.

GraedivaI did after the jurying, and so on, a nap, coat, in a hotel, Mittags. Suddenly you come hard through, in a car, in my dream. The image says, behind the wheel, that it wonders why it will not just drive into the water, off the road. A jerk, right. Woke up from it, because of that.

Slae’s leg that is crossed over another leg almost unnoticed wobbles. A finger also slowly makes little curls in real hair.

GraedivaDidn’t sit completely well with me, for a moment. Whatever. Now you, pop.

Slae who sits rather nicely seeks in vain eye contact with Rinse who standing between servers still full of disbelief looks at Graediva.

SlaeProbability calculation does not lie, darling. I have looked up at home where the given car was at that time. Blue. You have gone further where we once remained. Our mistress does not lie. Is it not artful?

Slae points to the wristband. It is particularly confronting. Rinse knows almost certainly that Slae therefore also knows more about the nocturnal simulating, with a certain impulse or output as a result. Slae confirms that.

SlaeBlue: Graediva woke up from it. Lilac: I woke up from it. Objects.

GraedivaAll your fault, with your ego.

Our mindfucking slayer and dissector as well rather fiercely and rebelliously corrects the accusation in Rinse’s favour.

SlaeAnimo and ratio. It is in Scriptorium all connected with each other. Graediva has nothing with scale models. I have nothing with scale models. And yet we are here.

GraedivaYes, with your apnoea. Never do that again, that stopping, with your breathing. People get startled by that. That talking, in your sleep, there was already something wrong with that, but letting Qutje robotically sound the alarm can really not, des Nachts.

RinseIs it that bad, then?

GraedivaDuh.

Because a long straight line in a graph does not lie, therefore is always true, Graediva delivers on a touchscreen the proof to Rinse’s disadvantage. A further analysis follows. Meanwhile a few floors higher Julius’s black SE comes to a standstill on top of the copy of the damaged ride.

After getting out the transmitter is also broken. Kicking against the lift door our mortal loudly calls something about Ali Baba and his forty thieves. It works, but then with a detour.

JuliusYo! It is still alive. Playing doctor?

Graediva who definitely does not do faint immediately diverts the attention from the buttoned-up long coat that happens to be white.

GraedivaWas it nice?

JuliusSay what?

GraedivaYour business lunch, mate.

No answer. Searching for more or less hidden faults that lie in the networking computers that continuously send questions and process answers our mistress of advanced pleasure further keeps silent about it. Rinse may go.

Julius does that as well. Slae follows. It is strange.

Buffers are quickly emptied. As administrator Graediva sets the parts surrounding her one by one to non-active. Time can be relative.

It is the day after the formal phase.

Ai-ai-ai (humanoidrobots.txt) :- true.

Graediva has not yet confirmed the unlimited access to everything that is digital with a press on the button or my presence is already a fact again. Copyright, trademark right, author’s right, patent right also gets with the press on the button imaginarily and actually a thick middle finger.

In the kind of dining salon in BeuqBoxz a tin of LD, RC and ND stand in an otherwise empty bookcase ready for sale and consumption. More can still be added, but history has already been written.

Rinse JonkheerSo.

Rinse Jonkheer expresses his concerns about tinkering with the brain and the free hand that the calculating machines in BeuqBoxz have therein.

GraedivaFoq supreme being, monopoly and dictatorship.

Our mistress of advanced pleasure talks about the stupefying forces behind progress that according to her conviction must be fought at the same time as the greatest and mutually reinforcing evil as well. Making life sour separately has so to speak no point.

GraedivaThe foqing phenomena are maintained because it is an income. As soon as common sense takes something away from that it comes at you. Maintaining power is a dirty job, Jonkheer. There is nothing wrong with a bit of self-justice, now.

In a building that as yet has no name, but already stands on the map, Slae knows very well that the saddest story and the nicest behind get a stage. No fewer than 366 robots that proportionally share a female and a male appearance stand ready.

Slae is only satisfied when a totally spoiled child that even under parental supervision cannot be kept away from any influencer on a random channel rolls in front of the shop window screaming for a puppy.

GraedivaMe robots are ready for it, completely. Julius too. Change needs protection. Right or safety knows a nasty priority, and zhit. The biggest budget wins. You are not important, Jonkheer. Stay. Or would you rather see how it goes with you?

No reaction. That which Qnaapje has stored independent of the socket appears on MeMuur. There is image and sound.

Because the bell does not work there has been knocking on the door and peering through the window next to it. A parcel for the neighbours. The independent handyman drifts off grumbling about a kind of bygone helpfulness.

There has been phoned and asked for the person who is in charge of telephony. The Chamber of Commerce is good for it, but the caller has clearly missed the writing out. There has been knocking on the door and opened for a know-it-all who wants to know which supplier supplies the energy.

That is how it goes before or after switching. There has been phoned and a wonderful offer made with extra chances of winning. There has been knocking on the door and a parcel for the neighbours sent back into the neighbourhood.

There has been phoned and asked for the person who is in charge of the energy bill. There has been knocking on the door and opened for a collector with a sad story that as always ends with a good cause. There has been knocking on the door and a parcel for the neighbours sent back into the neighbourhood.

GraedivaStay! Learn from the foqing interaction between human and machine.

Then there is still the unaddressed advertising printed matter. There exist stickers that can change something about that, but still Qnaapje stands bent an exact number of times. There is more.

An automatically generated message reports that there is a new message in the Message Box on MyGovernment. There is more, but then not by email. By automatically sent letter in an envelope that is rather conveniently opened a lottery encourages to participate.

There is choice. After three or six draws the participation for example stops by itself, if the choice falls on that. In another automatically generated writing a bank reports a certain overdraft.

A deposit within a set term is as it were desired. A debt.

GraedivaSomewhere the grass is always greener, Jonkheer. That keeping on the line, over the telephone, Qnaapje really did not do to sicken. That was to test who is the last to notice that it is speaking with an artificially intelligent entity, so to speak.

Telecom is the dumbest. It is warm. Unasked oppression hangs in the air.

GraedivaBleib. You will never see us again if you flee, now. It is on or off.

A turning point. Inside is outside. In the surrounding garden around BeuqBoxz absolutely or definitely no Kroezeboom, but solar panels that let neon letters shine in the face.

Rinse Jonkheer inhales and experiences intensely what oxygen can do with blood. Added to that is that consumers who swallow the stupefying forces behind progress as a good right may expect no aftercare from our mistress of advanced pleasure. Call it a vacuum or agreement.

A last look.

Rinse JonkheerLet it be soft, Vincuit.