Life In 3265

The time is 8:45. 8:45 is the pre-determined time of waking. Waking will commence.

'Mmmmmmnnnnn. Nnnnnnn.'

8:45 is the pre-determined time of waking. Secondary waking measures will commence.

'Mmmmnnn.... Nnnnnuh? Uh! Nnnnn! Loud! Nnnnn! Stop! Stop! Enough!'

Waking successful.

Dirty clothes are located to the right of the resting chamber. The option for fresh clothing is available.

...

Fresh clothing selected. Host will relocate to the re-dressing zone in seventeen seconds.

'Ughhh, dark. Can't see.'

Increasing illumination. Host now within re-dressing zone. Re-dressing now in progress.

'No, not the red ones again. I swear I have better taste than you.'

Host opinion disregarded. Morning meal now ready for consumption. Materializing in Port H.

...

Physical Nutrients consumed. UniNet connection loading, awaiting host integration within one hundred seconds.

'Can't even walk in these things. Red. Huh.'

Host in position for network upload. Beginning external diagnostics, preparing for integration.

'Never get used to this part, no matter how many RGGGGAAAHHHH!!!!'

Host integration successful, thought patterns joining Harmony. External implant activating 'Dormant' mode. Initialize. Transfer in progress.

The old world was hard to let go of for many people, particularly the ones who had once walked atop her sweet surface. Many of them wanted to preserve it somehow, and well intentioned preservation easily turns into re-creation, and re-creation easily turns into simulation, and simulation easily blurs into reality. Everyday I walk the streets of Old Earth, or at least what remains of our collective memory of the place. It gaps and fades and I suspect mixes together inaccurately, like men with sheriffs badges who ride into the Sky Cities on horses, waving a spear at everybody. The disaster, so long ago that clarity is impossible amongst these washed minds, must've changed us. Was that old world really worth the fantasy? Was it more genuine than a blue flower gaining pixelation? Maybe we've always been this way, who can know. I walk down the streets of Old Earth and sometimes I'm myself, but most other times I'm everybody else. The streets are all the same and they never change, the squares of the clouds above constantly shifting resolution and the smell is always of dried paint. No sound, like my ears don't work anymore. What is sound (?) everything I hear is already inside my mind. Mind, engaging. Sights, sounds, smells, in unison. Old world, old place, old wonders, true home. Home. Home. Home.

Thought patterns aligned with Harmony. Host conscious transferred to UniNet platform. Expected time of disengagement: fifty thousand six hundred and twenty four seconds. Decreasing illumination.