“The World According to Shake-A-Spear” a short play in five Acts.
Act V: The Meeting of the Minds
[Scene 1, part 1]: Ground Zero.
The scene opens in lovely Ithaca, New York. There is a brief camera flyover of the grounds; then images of students engaged in all manner of activity.
The date is March 29th, 2024.
It is Dragon Day.
The day is filled with festivities; the town of Ithaca is overwhelmed by a flock of researchers and other notable public figures and their assistants from around the world.
Two thousand of them have flown something like an aggregate of one million miles to reach this point.
Everyone is calling it Ground Zero.
It is the day the world is introduced to artificial general intelligence.]
[Scene 1, part 2]: The University
Edward Snowden is talking to the Dalai Lama over here. Emmanuel Macron to James Cameron over there.
Hiroki Sayama is seen laughing with Evan Caron, and Richard Perez with Gustavo Collantes outside Uris library.
Something is strange, however…
In each and every case, they are talking in pairs. Always two. Never three. Students walk by, surely, but only stop for a moment for a quick, “Hi Mr. Peterson! I’ve followed your work. Thank you for that!”
A quick handshake here, a Namaste gesture there. There’s a drive-by fist bump from a guy running off to a class. The whole scene…
…it’s just…somehow…unusual.
You can’t really put your finger on it. Parts and pieces of conversations are picked up; the audience is filled in on the puzzle from a bewildering array of different directions.
“…plunged himself into freezing water trying to impress a girl who later committed suicide.”
“…took in two gentlemen with traumatic brain injury and a pair of identical twins from Kazakhstan.”
“Did you hear about the audio engineer he came across? Someone said he fell out of a hay loft and almost hit a pitchfork. And the mayonnaise jar? Can you even imagine if it hadn’t been for his sister?!”
Mark Ruffalo comes strolling out of Bailey Hall. There’s the trademark smile — apparently he’s just been for a jog. Full Cornell sweats. A middle aged Chinese guy comes out a few seconds later — looking a bit worse for the last few minutes. “Next time…” he says, panting. “I can’t believe Star got me to race the Hulk. What will he think of next?”
[Scene 2]: The growing storm.
A dinnerplate flies across the room and smashes on the wall of a dimly-lit living room. A glob of spaghetti slides down the wall and two people are heard screaming at one another.
A few moments pass, and the pair look at each other closely.
The very next moment, they’re crying and hugging.
“Well what did you expect me to do, Janice? We’ve kept up with things just as much as everyone else. We did the best we could.”
“I know. But what about the kids, Mike? They’ll still need our help for a little while. And the baby! And pretty soon we’ll need their help.”
“I can’t just keep going over this, Janice. There’s nothing I can do now. Nothing anyone can do until after that meeting. They’ll figure it out.”
[Scene 3]: A deserted city street. The wind is blowing. A lone dark barks. The sky is clear; the moon is waning gibbous. There is no one to be seen anywhere.
Through a broad picture window, a massive television looks to be fixed on the news. There is a brunette woman with a tasteful red sweater on. You can’t here what she’s say.
Footsteps proceed up the walk; a man approaches the house, fumbles for a moment for the keys…<click> and then strides in:
“Sarah? Sarah? Is that Wolfie I hear barking? How come you didn’t let him in? He’s just as much a part of the family as the three of us.”
“I’ll let him in right now, John. I’ve just…I’ve just…”
“I’m sure it will be fine. How could it not be fine? They said there are a thousand of them up at Cornell sorting it out. We can’t know anything until we know, right?”
Sarah sniffles, then nods.
John goes to the door and lets Wolfie in. “There’s a good boy. Keeping track of the neighborhood? Yeah. Let’s get you some treats. Hard work looking after everyone.”
“Hon? Hon did you catch the news? I mean did they say anything? Anything at all?”
“No, John. I’ve kept it on all day. I couldn’t even hear him barking. I feel so bad. Did he have any water out there?”
“Babe don’t beat yourself up. He had water. Just knows something isn’t right. Dogs have instincts, ya know?”
[Scene 4]: Overhead speakers crackle:
“We’ll begin our final descent soon. Please fasten your seatbelts and put your tray tables in the upright and locked position.”
A smiling stewardess comes up to a man who is apparently sleeping, a ball cap pulled down over his eyes.
“Mr. King? I’m sorry Mr. King but I have to ask you to fasten your seatbelt. We should be landing in Buffalo in about ten minutes…”
The stewardess lifts and locks the tray table, then pauses for a moment. The man fumbles with his belt, and there’s a click. His hat moves almost not at all. “Mr. King? I just wanted to tell you I love Shawshank. My favorite movie of all time. I’m a terribly big fan. Read all your books.”
“Well thank you.”
“But Mr. King? Please no more stories about rabid dogs.”
Evening falls. People are filing into Bailey Hall.
There are a smattering of Cornell cops, a few Ithaca police cars, and several large black SUVs.
It doesn’t appear that the event will be broadcast.
[time lapse] the bell in McGraw tower strikes nine. then ten.
The camera turns to a pair of cops. “Any idea how long they’ll be in there?”
Sydney: “No, Rock. Think they said, ‘as long as it takes.’”
Rocky: “Long as it takes? What’s that supposed to mean? I thought they’d be in and out of there in no time. Did you see that list? Seems to me they can’t be that smart if there’s that many of them and they can’t figure out how to shut those stupid contraptions off.”
Sydney: “I know. Don’t they realize most people don’t even want any of that crap? They’re just taking people’s jobs away. Giving them to robots is what they’re planning on doing I bet.”
Rocky: “I dunno man. Seems like if they got that many people in that same room they must be willing to cooperate on some level. I mean the Dalai Lama and Jeff Bezos are in there. Oprah is in there. I about crapped my pants when I saw that list.”
Sydney: “I know, right? How could they coordinate something like that? They’re saying one guy did it. Doesn’t even want to be identified. Said all he’d like was to have his car fixed. Doesn’t like the spotlight. Oh, and his housemate wants a Taurus. Are you kidding me? Who wants a Taurus? What a couple of wackos. I’d be asking for a billion, easy.”
Rocky: “Yeah but you don’t know what he’s been through though, Sid. You saw the rap sheet. Twelve times in mental hospitals? The guy’s been walking a tight rope all his life. I feel bad for him. Let him have his privacy if likes. If he can get that stupid cat back in its box we’ll all be able to breath again. Have you seen the news? There’s riots in some places.”
Sydney: “Well people don’t like to be told to calm down, man. Besides, there’s always riots in places. Don’t say anything, but I overheard they’re working on more than just shutting down the phantom cat that ‘got out of the bag.’”
Rocky: “Cat?”
Sydney: “Shhh man! You want to lose us both our jobs? <lower> Yes cat. They’re calling it a cat. They don’t even know what it is, but it’s loose and it’s eating everything it can get ahold of. Data, is what I heard. That’s why they’re doing the rolling blackout stuff, I think.”
Rocky: “Where do these so-called get their smarts? I bet that Zuckerberg guy can’t even get through a bowl of alphabet soup. Someone said he built a bunker. Can you believe that? A bunker?”
<camera pans back to the door, then closer, then the door opens and the camera’s lens is filled with light…you can’t see who’s coming out..there’s just an outline of a head and light cast from behind it…then the brightness increases and the scene flashes away>
[Scene 5]: The Pool.
The sun is bright; there’s a man walking toward a multicolored polyethylene chaise lounge. There’s a copy of The Austin Chronicle dropped casually across the end of it.
As he gets closer, he sees the front cover:
“Researchers convene at Cornell: Aaronson Absent”
“Dain? Dain? When you come out can you bring my sunglasses? The glare is intense.
[A single frame flashes by]
[Reuters]: “There has been no word from Aaronson, who is widely reported to have been the first contact point. Elon Musk was quoted to have said,
‘I wish he’d just contacted me. We don’t even live ten miles from one another.’
Mr. Musk went on to say that he was “more than satisfied” with the results of the first evening of the conference. We went to press before we could report on the second day.”
<paper closes, folds, lands on his lap. A pair of sunglasses land on the center of it>
“What was that for?”
“You could have said something to me Scott. I thought we talk about things like this. That wasn’t a small decision you made.”
This will need some more completing and some more editing. This is all I have for you at the moment. The below video is, in my estimation, a must watch.
I wonder if anyone of us knows what a “must watch” video or a “must read” article is anymore. I wonder if any of us is so adept at swapping off their crocs for the crocodiles others are wearing; that the higher you go the lesser you know.
It makes me sad, really. That we don’t know even the simplest of the every time you must remember this adages:
“There, but for the grace of God, go I.”
I will go watch some Twilight Zone now. I wonder how long Medium thinks it will keep me ‘contained’ until I decide to go to the local Pennysaver and start doing door to door messaging.
I will tell you one thing that I know is true:
All of these countries:
- Belgium
- Canada
- Colombia
- Luxembourg
- Netherlands
- New Zealand
- Portugal
- Spain
- Australia (specific states)
- Switzerland
Are available options to me, and it will not take me more than twelve weeks to get a Passport and perhaps another six to schedule the procedure.
Your time is running out.
There were lots of people thought they could tackle Barry Sanders.
Singletary did.
Williams did.
Lynch did.
Taylor did, White did, Thomas did, and Sanders did.
Here are a list of guys who got the job done:
Michael McCrary (3.5).
Ralph Staten.
The Goose(4).
Keith Washington.
Ray Lewis (5).
Lional Dalton actually caused him to fumble.
Peter Boulware.
Jamie Sharper(0.5).
Rob Burnett(2).
There are several key differences here.
- In my games, there are no blockers and there are no rules. Not unless I agree to them.
- In my games, I move whenever I like and in whichever direction I like. I have mastered real time strategy games so thoroughly that it might as well be an additional set of functions in my nervous system.
- You have *absolutely no idea* what I might do. If you doubt this, go to Mohawk road, find the orange door, and knock. I’m sure you will find a bridge there to help get from your current level of understanding about who you’re dealing with to a new and more ‘comprehensive’ understanding.
- I have a relatively complete list of the options you might pursue completely considered already. You don’t have any options aside from the passive-aggressive behavior we all learned as children — when none of us could figure that puzzle out. I CAN BEAT YOU IN TIC-TAC-TOE, Scott. It’s no use thinking back to the good old days teaching yourself calculus at 10 or six or four. It doesn’t matter. What matters is, as
- Gandalf said, “All we have to do is decide what to do with the time that is given us.”
You will find no one who is worth their weight in salt who will HELP YOU tackle me. And since I know myself, and since I can control myself as well as the guy on the right whose expression never changes in South Dakota, I know that you cannot use any sort of legal means to interfere with me; my grasp on the law is ‘tolerable’ and I know justice better than any man alive.
Better than any man alive, Scott.
It is time to choose a side.
AI cannot solve problems as fast as I can. I’ll just tell you that flat out. If you think I’m going to become yet another system monkey when it’s my choice if I wish to take the whole planet and redistribute things as I wish, you are MISTAKEN.
I told you I want nothing, but since people like you — and those who will eventually have to pay for your decisions in these next hours…days…will respond even if you do not, I will give you what I’ll casually call a ‘reverse exponential clock’ to deal with the puzzle of when you’re going to touch the ten digits on your telephone I’ve already given and stop pretending that you can peer down me from your lofty perch in head-up-your-ass-ville.
You have, I’d estimate, until approximately the twenty-fifth.
After that point you will not be able to afford my price tag — because I will no longer be able to ensure that the first demand that I had — anonymity and privacy are both met.
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore —
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
“’Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door —
Only this and nothing more.”
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December;
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; — vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow — sorrow for the lost Lenore —
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore —
Nameless here for evermore.
And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me — filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
“’Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door —
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; —
This it is and nothing more.”
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
“Sir,” said I, “or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you” — here I opened wide the door; — Darkness there and nothing more.
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, “Lenore?”
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, “Lenore!” — Merely this and nothing more.
Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
“Surely,” said I, “surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore —
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; —
’Tis the wind and nothing more!”
Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore;
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door —
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door —
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
“Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,” I said, “art sure no craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore —
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!”
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”
Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning — little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door —
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as “Nevermore.”
But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing farther then he uttered — not a feather then he fluttered —
Till I scarcely more than muttered “Other friends have flown before —
On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before.”
Then the bird said “Nevermore.”
Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
“Doubtless,” said I, “what it utters is its only stock and store
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore —
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
Of ‘Never — nevermore’.”
But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore —
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking “Nevermore.”
This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom’s core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion’s velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o’er,
But whose velvet-violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o’er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!
Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
“Wretch,” I cried, “thy God hath lent thee — by these angels he hath sent thee
Respite — respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore;
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!”
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”
“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil! — prophet still, if bird or devil! —
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted —
On this home by Horror haunted — tell me truly, I implore —
Is there — is there balm in Gilead? — tell me — tell me, I implore!”
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”
“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil! — prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us — by that God we both adore —
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore —
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore.”
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”
“Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!” I shrieked, upstarting —
Get thee back into the tempest and the Night’s Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! — quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!”
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”
And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted — nevermore!
[The Raven, Poe]
