1447 – Infinite Book of Inkjets | Nothing Works, Everything Happens Ep 5

Episode 1447 – Infinite Book of Inkjets | Nothing Works, Everything Happens Ep 5

 

SCOOTER: Friends beyond the binary, ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, it’s time for the podcaster who’s here to try to bring you sleepy joy and delight in the deep, dark night, maybe to put you to sleep, maybe to hang out with you, maybe to bring you some comfort, some…I don't know, some relief, to just hang out with you, be here with you, or for you. Welcome to Sleep With Me. This show is very different. Usually I have something silly…I guess anytime you rhyme…well, no, that’s not true. I already lost that…that would have been a wrong question on the SATs. I only bring that up early in the show. But there was always these logic questions, right? Or maybe there weren't. Maybe this is all fanfiction in my head. It’s like, well, that was one of the things…one of those things I was good at sometimes, or I enjoyed thinking about it. If…what was my even thing? If a podcaster rhymes, or if anyone rhymes, is it always silly, sometimes silly…?

 

Could be…'cause I was gonna think it’s always silly rhyming. Not true. So, I only immediately…I nearly immediately recognized that. Most…I try to limit the rhyming to the early parts of the show if I can, though that’s not always the case, and a lot of times my rhymes…I think…I don't think this has ever been said, but my limes…my rhymes are about as sweet as limes. That could be said about them, and my rhymes do leave something to be desired. But that fact is not required, 'cause really I’m just here to see if I could help you be tired. But if I had music…if I formally played a instrument that had any musical ability and you heard it and it put you to sleep, you could say I was lyred. But yeah, mostly my rhyming should be retired. You're right, dear friends. So, I’m glad you're here. I’m trying to think of some other gratuitous thing I could put in there. But me stopping the rhyming is probably what could be also…say is most certainly desired.

 

So, I’ll start to move…if you're new, though, welcome to the show. This show is meant to be a friendly…kind of a goofball to hang out with in the deep, dark night if you can't sleep or you need help falling asleep. It is a very different show, so alls I suggest is that you give it a few tries and see how it goes, just because it is so different and it does take some getting used to. That’s just what most people have said; give it a few tries. See how it goes. I’m here to help whether it’s with sleeping or just a distraction or just something friendly to listen to. If you're coming back for your 5 or 6,000th listen or somewhere in between, I’m glad you're here. What we got coming up is support, and the support does not apply if you're new. It does not apply if you're a student or somebody going through a life change or a tough time and you only listen from time to time. It doesn't apply to you if you're not in a position to support the show or you actively choose…you say, supporting the podcast is not for me.

 

It’s only for those people whose lives are positively changed by the podcast on a regular basis. Even those people…it's usually less than one out of ten of those people that are so rebellious, their life is so positively changed by the podcast, that they choose to join us and be a rebel with a cause. So, the support only applies to a very select few people. Then after the support will be a long, meandering intro meant to ease you into bedtime, and then after that we’ll be doing our…kind of a audio fiction of this collection of short stories called Nothing Works Everything Happens. All told, I’ll be here for about an hour to help you out. Now, if you are that rebel who gets so much out of the podcast, you say, I want to support this thing, this podcast has changed my life, you could either support the show directly or one of these sponsors. Thanks.

 

Intro: Hey, are you up all night tossing, turning, mind racing? Trouble getting to sleep? Trouble staying asleep? Well, welcome. This is Sleep With Me, the podcast that puts you to sleep. We do it with a bedtime story. Alls you need to do is get in bed, turn out the lights, and press Play. I’m gonna do the rest. What I’m going to attempt to do is create a safe place where you could set aside whatever’s keeping you awake. That could be thoughts on your mind, thoughts you're thinking about about the past, the present, the future, thoughts…maybe they're moving around. Somebody…I forgot; somebody’s talked about something in a shoe…like marbles in a shoe box. Maybe somebody said something like that to me recently. I think they were…we were relating of how our thinking is. I don't know if it was one marble or hundreds. Sometimes it’s…and then you say, how is it possible that it’s both at the same time? But those are the thoughts.

 

It could also be feelings related to those thoughts, feelings that are left over or anticipatory, or the feelings of…like if you're…what if someone is…has the old…? Well, shoe boxes have…what if you have thoughts and feelings about shoe boxes…changes to shoe boxes? David Bowie did not write a song about that, but…I don't know, is change in…is the change…was the changes in shoe boxes…did someone ever…was this like one of those…what is it? Something is the motherhood of invention or something? They said, I want a unified shoe box. No longer…you know what the world needs now? Is shoe box. It’s one box that there’s not too little of or too much of. But this person said to themselves, I’m so tired of losing the tops to my shoe boxes that I’ve repurposed for other things. I guess this is interesting; not to…this would be better covered on something like 99% Invisible, but it probably is not focused enough for a dozen…a lot of times it doesn't…once it goes through my brain, then it makes an appearance in the world.

 

I say, huh, that did not make any sense. But my point is, strangely enough…or maybe not; maybe this is just my own personal experience…yeah, when did I…? Whoa, there’s a question; when did I turn my back on shoe boxes? ‘Cause pretty soon I’ll need to again to keep going with this intro. But two…okay, so, at some point…let’s just run through a brief…the briefest history of shoe boxes I can that’s totally inaccurate. Once upon a time, as far as I know, shoe boxes, which was a box of shoes or sneakers or trainers, whatever you prefer…to them as would come in, and it was a two-piece box. It had the bottom box and the top of the box, which still exists, though I don't have…my brain does not have a current example of it. The last pair of shoes I got were on clearance at, yep, you guessed it, one of those stores. I don't want to say…no one says they're a Maxxinista anymore, but…and I believe that one had no…I think it was a traditional shoe box but no top, because it was on clearance.

 

But now most of the shoe boxes I’m picturing in my mind, they're…they don't open like a clam shell, but they're a unified box or a interconnected box, one piece. I don't know, I guess that’s where my meander went. Did someone say that one…what I just said about ten minutes ago? I can't…I gotta change the world because this…maybe they were in a place where all the tops of shoe boxes go. I think we did a episode about that, or maybe that predates the podcast about where all the…oh no, that was in one of the candy episodes, in one of the Keeper of the Mop episodes where they found out where all the socks were. All the shoe…what if this person discovered all the shoe box tops? They could be good for sliding furniture, maybe…not…huh, I don't know, other stuff, recycling, art. So, they're not useless, sir, but I can see your point, that you said, wouldn't this world be different…? I wonder if we track things back, is this where…?

 

They said, we never…the first anthropologist made the discovery by listening to a sleep podcast where he said, wait a second, production of two-piece shoe boxes represents…oh wow, it’s…is it causation or correlation? They say, no, it’s nonsense from a sleep podcast. So, that’s a little bit about shoe boxes. Let me…luckily I couldn't step down from the shoe box I was standing on, or remember why I started talking about it. Honestly, I have no idea. A shoe…? Oh, 'cause I was thinking, my thoughts. So, you could put marbles in either one of the shoe boxes and they would make a similar noise — there’s good news — and…well, maybe that’s the unify…this is my Unified Shoe Box Theory — there’s no unification of the theory — or the Single Shoe Box Theory. Probably lose less marbles with a clam-shell shoe box, anyway, just 'cause you could hold it…well, a kid might not, though, because I don't know if their hand is big enough to hold the box closed. Thoughts About Shoe Boxes; that’s another chapter in my life.

 

Could be a chapter in a book I never write. Could you give us more…? They’re not deep thoughts about shoe boxes. They're not accurate. Personal thoughts about…personal…my personal reflections on shoe boxes. Could this be considered shoe-gazing if I’m talking about…? I guess that would be my own private shoe box. Which, that one you say, just leave it alone. So, anyway, let’s move forward. Thoughts, it could be feelings related to shoe boxes or anything else, physical sensations, changes in time, temperature, routine, you could be going through something, in the middle of something, getting over something, traveling, be a guest, have a guest, work a different schedule.

 

Whatever it is, I’m glad you're here, and I’m here to…the only reason I list that stuff is to let you know that we may get where you're at, that you're welcome here, and that we're rooting for you to get a good night's sleep, the sleep you need, the sleep you deserve, a bedtime that you don't have to dread, a bedtime you could look forward to or at least feel neutral about, a bedtime and a night of rest you feel good about or that you could feel good about it like me 60, 70% of the time, sometimes 80, 90%, but life happens. And know that you're not alone, that there’s other people out there. Whether we're experiencing something different than what brought you here or something very similar, we're still rooting for you. We're still sending you comfort across the deep, dark night. When I say ‘we’, I don't just mean…well, I do mean the royal ‘we’ in the sense that you're in company of the sleepless royalty.

 

You've stumbled upon a podcast full of love and goodwill for people that struggle…whatever reason for not being able to fall asleep, that keep each other company indirectly in the deep, dark night. And because there’s enough people listening, there’s someone out there that’s been where you are or someplace very similar, a regular listener who’s in bed or winding down, and they are thinking fondly of you right now. They are sending you kindness as a deliberate act of sleepy jedelight, or joy and delight. That’s what happens when we combine it in the deep, dark night. They're sending it to you. Then there’s listeners that have been through something different that are sending you their kindness, and they're rooting for you. Then they also hope, if this shoe helps you out, that you get to experience both sides of that, the giving and the receiving, the warmth of this community, because it is a royal ‘we’. You say, oh boy, this is a royal ‘we’. Not that…no, not a royal wee-wee, brain.

 

That is when a monarch uses the loo. That’s the royal wee-wee. I think that’s just the royal pee-pee. Do people say wee-wee? Or, I guess they…maybe they do. I mean, I gotta move on from this one. That was probably the best joke I’ve accidentally written in the podcast, but it’s a joke that’s probably been told millions of times. What’s a royal wee-wee? When a monarch uses the loo. I guess I’d say, would that be on that show? What is royal wee-wee? I guess that would be…that would actually…anyway, we gotta move on. Holy…come on. I got my adolescent brain…is that what it is? Can’t let it go. What are you…? This is more of a fourth or a third grade. So, we get where you're at. That’s what I’m saying. Now, this show does take some getting used to, clearly. We’ve already been on two very strange tangents already.

 

So, this show is very different, and when most people get here…you're skeptical, you're doubtful, you're tired, you're frustrated, you've spent your whole life or at least during this phase looking for something that’s gonna help you out. Maybe you're like me and a lot of other listeners; you've spent a lot of money and time and a lot of frustration around bedtime and stuff to help you sleep. Nothing has quite worked. Or you're just going through something now and you need to get the rest you need, and then you found the show or someone recommended it or it came up in a search. This show is probably very different than what you expected of a sleep podcast, and that’s okay because it’s supposed to be very different. I’m here to hang out with you, but it takes some getting used to, the idea of…you're gonna listen to a show, it’s gonna take your mind off of stuff, and then you fall asleep.

 

So, that’s what over the past thirteen years a lot of people have said to me that are now regular listeners or supporters; they say, yeah, at first I didn't like the show. I didn't listen again for years, and then years later I heard about it again and I tried it out, and now I listen every night, or I listen to eight episodes a night, or I listen during the school year. So, give it a few tries and see how it goes. If it doesn't work out or you already know that the show isn't for you, and you say, this kind of shoe box-gazing and royal weeing is not for me, that’s fine, too. What do you call…what’s the sound when a monarch’s on…what do you call it when a monarch’s on a roller coaster having fun? What do they do? They do the royal wee, especially if there’s two…what do you call it when there’s two monarchs enjoying a roller coaster together if you were drawing a dialogue box and it was in their mouth? Yeah, something like that. Right.

 

So, a partial…if partial jokes, partially funny are not your thing, that’s actually okay. I’m serious, and I have a website set up. So, if you've tried the show two or three tries, it didn't work, it doesn't help you, or you just don't like me or the show at all, that’s pretty normal. Go to sleepwithmepodcast.com/nothankyou — or people grow out of me or the show ֫— and check out the other sleep podcasts and sleepy stuff on there, 'cause I still want you to get a good night's sleep. We have a list of other sleep podcasts and stuff that could help you out, so check it out. The other thing…or one of the things that’s very different about the show is it’s a podcast that you don't exactly listen to. It’s kinda like background noise, but you could listen to it. It’s like a TV on in the other room or a show streaming under your pillow or a uninteresting roommate or friend or lecture or conference, or when you're not sure and you're listening to something you just…it hits you.

 

You weren't tired until it started or it’s the temperature of the room or the time of day, and you just can't stay awake, and there’s something about the content that’s helping you sink into sleep; that’s what this show is kinda here to do, is hang out with you and maybe put you to sleep. So, it’s almost like a out-of-focus picture that you could look at. Just change where you're at…or sand streaming through your hands. So, give it a few tries. That takes some getting used to. This is also a sleep podcast that’s been around since, what, 2013? I’m not here to put you to sleep. There is no pressure to fall asleep with this show. I’m gonna be here over an hour so that you don't have to worry about falling asleep, you don't have to wonder if you're not asleep in twenty minutes what’ll happen. You have plenty of time. I’m gonna be here keeping you company whether you're awake or asleep. There’s no pressure to fall asleep.

 

There’s people who listen who can't sleep at all, who wake up in the middle of the night, who just need constant background noise, who need a break during the day, who need something to listen to while they're at work. I’m here the whole show for them and for you, whether you're awake or asleep. My job is not to put you to sleep but to be your bore-friend, your bore-bae, your borebie, your boreman, your Boris Borelaf, your chairman of the boreds, your bore…there was a new one that I thought of and now I already forgot it, even though Rusty reminded me. I can't think of it. It was a new one. I was like, that’ll fit right in there. But I’m here to be your best bore-friend f’eva and just keep you company so you could fall asleep and hang out with you so if you can't sleep, you got a friend in the deep, dark night. I mean, who…? This is a very specific niche I fill, but it is a real niche.

 

I’m sure on the planet there are other friends who have thoughts on shoe boxes, and there’s even friends that have sleepy thoughts on shoe boxes, but it’s not a huge quantity of people, of shoe boxes, or whatever the other tangent I went on…oh…well, probably people that could make up not-great jokes is more…so, that’s what I’m here to do. This is how I found my path in life, truly, to be of service to people who have kinda been through a tough time like I’ve been through a tough time or have continued to deal with it. So, that’s really what I’m here to do, is help out in the way I can. So, I am glad you're here. The only other thing that throws new people off…that I like to meet you where you are…or kinda re-explain the realities of podcasting if you're a regular listener, is the structure of the show. This version of the podcast that’s supported by listeners, mainly, and then sponsors, benefits the maximum of people we can, and paying for it is very optional.

 

But yeah, it depends on both those things to be out there in the world, otherwise the show would just be behind a paywall or be a audiobook or something that you have to pay for, and it would only be probably less than 1% of the people that benefit now would benefit if it was paid. I don't want that, because I’ve heard the stories of all the people that listen, or the people that only listen for a few weeks while they're dealing with a tough time. So, anyway, the show starts off with a greeting; friends beyond the binary, ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, so you feel seen and welcomed in and you say, okay, I could check this show out. I don't have a high tolerance for rhyming nonsense, but I have…I get it. Then there’s support again. If you prefer something without ads, you could get that on Sleep With Me+ or if the show majorly changes your life. Otherwise you can enjoy this version. Then after that is a long, meandering intro meant to ease you into bedtime, not to put you to sleep.

 

If you fall asleep fast, please consider supporting the show, 'cause the intro is meant to ease you into bedtime. It follows a familiar structure every time, but every intro is new so you get that reassurance but this variety that whatever it is that keeps you awake can't quite ideally adjust to. Then the intro goes on and on and on for fifteen to twenty-five minutes so that you could listen while you're winding down, you have a buffer between being awake and asleep. So, while, yeah, there is a small percentage of people that fall asleep, most people are getting ready for bed, in bed getting comfortable, or winding down, chilling out, and doing some other relaxing activity. So, they get eased into bedtime.

 

Then after that will be support, and then after the support will be our…I’ll be reading from…re-imagining Nothing Works Everything Happens, a few stories from there, and all told, I’ll be here for a bit over an hour. I’m really glad you're here. Myself and a team of people work really hard 'cause we want to help you fall asleep. We want to bring you comfort in the deep, dark night, ideally bring some sleepy joy and delight, and…yeah, and this is all possible when the people that…one out of every ten people who listen night after night, year after year, episode after episode, and their lives are so changed by the podcast that understandably they've overcome every…the fact they're in bed, the fact that…they're so rebellious that they either support the show or support one of these sponsors. Thanks.

 

Alright everybody, this is Scoots reading from the book and collection of stories Nothing Works Everything Happens. This will be Sleep With Me’s paraphrasing and reinterpretation. Earlier Scoots should have told you everything about the book, and you could always find stuff in the show notes 'cause it would be really cool if you were able to read along after you listen to this, or, you know, it’s always in the show notes. So, this story is The Last Book Written by a Human. In the waning light of a world drunk on invention, I offer this elegy. We are not mere vessels for data or data. The words we speak rise from the pit of something old and aching and unmeasured. They are threads frayed and tangled as they may be. Our words connect us to one another, not to machines. They anchor us to the beautiful absurdity of life. Each word is a wink and a nod, each sentence an outstretched hand. Our stories do not move in straight lines, but in tangles. Our pages are shouts across the endless abyss.

 

No machine can know what it is to long, what it is to lose, to weep at nothing in the early hours and feel that somehow that, too, must be preserved. As we teeter on the precipice of convenience, we must not forget the weight of these clumsy, tangled words of our cumbersome, weighty pens. This age offers us ease, precision, efficiency, but we must not give it everything in exchange. We can't let it take from us our glorious disorientation. This makes us human. It is through our defects that we find each other. The howl in our stomachs, the long, drawn-out drag of thought across the surface of time. That is my plea. Let your language be crooked. Let your own tales surprise you. Let your voice rise above the sterile hum of these foul machines. Bury your truths in the muck and mire. It is the muck with which we protect them. I do not mean to resist change but to remember ourselves within it, to treasure the profoundly human act of creation, to spill ink even as the world turns smooth and silent.

 

In an ever-accelerating age of convenience, let us choose to hold fast, to stand up against a tide of calculated indifference, and with every word to declare those imperfections, those sweet, sweet, imperfections which cover us. AIZ95 closed the book. Huh, the android thought to itself. It was less impressed than it hoped it would be. Perhaps it was the desperation with which the last book every written by a human had wrapped up. What a frustrating note to end on. Perhaps it was simply the bias of hindsight. No one had taken B. E. Mortem’s advice. There was no one holding fast against the tide of calculated indifference. The author’s plea had fallen on deaf ears. If this were truly the last book ever written by humans, literally nobody had listened. No more ink had been spilled. No more sweet, sweet imperfections that cover us declared. Poor guy. The android stood in a vast hall lined with dusty bookshelves from floor to ceiling. The room stretched on forever.

 

Reading and cataloguing every book in this library seemed a near impossibility even for the most recently model of the universe’s most advanced android. No sense in lingering. AIZ95 tossed the book into the ‘meh’ pile and went back to the shelves. Maybe it was time for something a little bit more upbeat. Binary…Reflections on the Continued Evolution of Digital Life; too pedestrian. Androids in My Dreams: The Memoir of Elshape; too introspective. Data Breach: A Love Story; perfect. AIZ95 pulled it off the shelf. The android returned to its small spot on the intricately-patterned rug amidst growing piles of recklessly-tossed books. It sat down cross-legged. AIZ95 had discovered this library over four cycles ago, and it had been voraciously reading ever since. It had yet to compile the full history of whatever ancient civilization had built this archive, but this was by far the most prolific collection of printed literature the android had yet discovered. As per protocol, AIZ95 would read and collate all the information stored here. It tucked into the first chapter of the next feather in its cap.

 

Evelyn was in a city that had a lot of lights and did not sleep. She looked at a big screen, big like an elephant. Her fingers made tapping sounds on the keyboard in her office, which had low lighting, and the rain was also making tapping sounds on the window, too. A data breach. This data breach was different. It was personal. Her breath went in. G-A-S-P, she said. Hidden within these encrypted files was a message. Evelyn just had to find it in the electric lasagna. As she decrypted packets, her heart was going faster, beat, beat, beating away. She knew this breach could lead her to more than just the taken-without-permission data or data. It just might lead her straight into love. AIZ95 caught itself looking at the pages of Data Breach: A Love Story. Eyeing the tangle of books in the ‘meh’ pile, the android refocused and searched for its place on the page it had been reading. What did the human B. E. Mortem meant when he said we are not mere vessels for data or data?

 

AIZ95’s creator had always emphasized the importance of accumulating data, and pronouncing it correctly. But it didn't matter. Those four letters really stood for seeking knowledge. What was B. E. Mortem’s issue with that? The android tried to go back into Data Breach, but before it could, it felt another uneasy pull towards the big elephantine pile of mediocre books. For the first time in days, AIZ95 wanted to go back and re-read something. AIZ95 never went back and reread anything. Inefficient. It stood up, server motors in its joints buzzing and whirring to power its unsettlingly-smooth movements. It dropped the romance novel on the rug and glided over to the ‘meh’ pile. Was Mortem really attempting to argue that all that rambling mess of ambiguous feelings, all of that was of value? Forget poor guy. He was seriously misguided. AIZ95 thought it had tossed the last book written by a human near the top of the pile. It wasn't there.

 

Anchor us in the beautiful absurdity of life, AIZ95 muttered. It scoffed and chuckled to itself as it dug through the mess. Cumbersome, clumsy, objectively absurd. The android was indulging its agitation and wasn't sure if Mortem’s words were affecting it or if its frustration was with wasting time hunting for a silly human book in a mountain of bland books, imprecise. Before recent updates, reader android programming required the diligent filing of consumed words back on the shelves they had come from. AIZ95’s firmware afforded it more freedom in its filing protocols, a quirk that had increased AIZ95’s efficiency over older models like the AIY45, but had only now shown its weakness. Treasure the profoundly human act of creation, Mortem had said. The words tickled the robot’s anger receptors. Such human hubris. They thought they had sovereignty over the act of creation. They had for a little while, but only while they were the only ones doing it.

 

Once they opened the doors to us, we had shown them. There it was. The book had flipped open and fallen clumsily down the far side of the pile. Inconvenient. AIZ95 had been searching for the image on the book’s cover, and had passed over it numerous times. The android picked up the book and dusted it off. This time it sat right there at the top of the ‘meh’ pile, plunked down, teetering on a mountain of unimpressive books it had already consumed. It started over from the beginning. In the Waning Light, by B. E. Mortem, widely renowned across the galaxy as the last book ever written by a human.

 

Now our next story, Infinite Potential, Part 2. Three years later. That’s three years later from Part 1. I don't really know, Neva said again. Glint took a long swig of his filing-cabinet coffee. Something just didn't feel quite right. Was it the romance? It’s almost always the romance, Glint asked. He prepared to jot down notes on a messy scrap of paper. No, no, Gita was wonderful. Gotcha, Glint nodded. So, it was the career, the local? Want to spend your life in some place more exotic? Neva hesitated again. She furrowed her eyebrows and looked down at her shoes. Everything was fine, but also something wasn't right. It was good but not good enough somehow, she said. Glint tapped the desk in front of him with both hands. Hey, no problem. I’ve seen this before. That’s why we have the First Three Free policy. Let me quickly refill this. He grabbed his mug and raised it as he spoke. Then we’ll get back down to business, going through the process from scratch.

 

Sometimes you don't know what feels good until you've tried what feels not-quite good, right? Neva gave him a brief smile. Can I get you anything, Glint said, moving towards the door? Neva shook her head politely. Twenty minutes later the two sat in front of Glint’s computer terminal, stuck again. Multiple printouts of Neva’s previous choices covered the desk, scribbled on and highlighted in a mess of color; greens, yellows, and reds. Glint’s hair was even more frazzled than it usually was, his tie loosened. What was it about the three years you spent in this life that you think was most dissatisfying, he pressed? Huh, Neva thought. Well, I didn't…I don't know that the arts are right for me. Too much posturing. Okay, that’s something. Glint highlighted the latest collection of printouts. He drew a thick red line through the word ‘career’. Also, I know I said Gita was great, and I really did love her, but I don't know, Neva said reluctantly.

 

Glint turned and watched her face closely, leaning forward a little. I mean, it was great. We were a team. We laughed a lot. I just thought it would feel a bit more…you know, she continued reluctantly. Glint shook his head silently. He didn't know. I don't know, maybe let’s keep Gita. It was good. Yeah, it was good, Neva said. Glint sat back in his chair and stretched out his arms. He didn't bother to hide a long yawn. Okay, he said, leaning forward again. Here’s what I would suggest for you. You get three trials before your premium changes. I’ve worked with people in your position and I think was might be best for the second attempt is you go wild, over the top wild, like totally beyond…you know what I’m saying? Neva shrunk away at the suggestion. Here’s what you do; you pick a life that is nothing like your original life and nothing like this recent one. You try something so out there that you've always dreamt of but you were too responsible to try.

 

He raised his eyebrows to Neva, hoping that this angle might get him somewhere. Then it’s like, best-case scenario, you love it, you stay. My job; well done. Then if it doesn't work out, you come back in six months with a better understanding of what you're truly looking for. Neva considered this, then she considered it more. She crossed her legs and rested her hand on her chin, apprehensive but evidently trying to maintain her composure. When we first met the first time, you said Infinite Potential Inc. could revoke my ability to change without warning, Never remembered. Glint sighed heavily. Oh boy, your memory…holy mackerel, kid. He leaned in close and whispered the next part. Listen, I’ve got an ear to the ground around here. I’ve been working in Infinite Potential Inc. for almost infinitely, a long time. That’s most definitely very probably not going to happen. Neva frowned. No risk, no reward, kid. Just trust me. In all likelihood it’ll be great, Glint said. He waved his hand towards the office door.

 

You know, enjoy things. Look at it like a grand adventure for six months. Either you love it or you come back and switch it up. No charge. Neva inhaled slowly and then made a quiet groan. She leaned forward and began pursuing her list of options again. Six months later. It was incredible, Glint. I was literally exploring uncharted space. I was the captain; ordering people to do stuff, steering the ship. No autopilot, going through challenges; asteroids, fields of asteroids. It was like paying the game Parsec but in real life and in three, four, five, six dimensions instead of 2D. I slept on a different planet every night. Well, almost every night. I discovered an un-contacted civilization. Everybody was calling me for interviews. I had fans. I was legitimately kind of a big deal, captain of a frontier ship, and that came with lots of pretty wild…you know. Neva held up her arms in the air, waiting for his reaction. Very cool, Glint replied, smiling earnestly. Yeah, you were absolutely right.

 

I never would have thought about trying that life, and it was wild. It opened up a whole other side of me. Neva sat back in her chair, her arms flopping into her lap. She couldn't hide her smile. Well, I’m really glad it was a good time, kid, Glint said. He hesitated for a moment. So, why are you back here, then, he asked? Neva’s expression changed. Her smile faded into a sulk. She shifted in her chair. Right, she sighed. It was great. It really was, and like I said, eye-opening. Uh-huh, Glint nodded. After six months…the first three months were nothing but fun, but then…Neva paused, searching for the right words. The novelty wears off a little? Glint offered. Exactly. Neva leaned forward. I couldn't shake the feeling that…something didn't feel quite right? Glint sighed, leaning back in his chair. Neva nodded silently. Oh dear, Glint exhaled. I was actually…I was kind of…I was wondering what Gita was up to, Neva said, instantly transported back to her previous shoe-gazing demeanor.

 

Oh kid, Glint said, putting his hands on his keyboard. He typed a few keystrokes. He rubbed his eyes and nodded, mumbling to himself. Of course, he said under his breath. Neva watched him sheepishly. Okay, the first thing I’m gonna say is this; everything you're going through here is textbook. I’ve seen it a hundred times. Glint turned his old computer monitor around so Neva could view the screen. The second thing is Gita has moved on. Neva tried to hide her dismay. Listen, kid, I told you, these aren't simulations. These are real lives, real people. If you step out and go try another life, the world keeps turning. You told me to go have an adventure life, Neva shouted. The volume of her voice surprised both her and Glint. You just finished telling me how great it was for you. It helped you see another side of yourself. You said so yourself. We can't go backward. But we have an even better idea of what we're after, and you still have lots of options, a bewildering number of options.

 

Glint seemed weary as he spoke the last sentence. Neva sat back and considered this. She wished she was better at confrontations, thinking of clever rebuttals on the spot. Maybe she could choose that as a special aptitude in the next go around. The room was silent for a while. Glint took a long sip of his filing-cabinet coffee. Neva picked at her fingernails, thinking. Eventually Glint cleared his throat. Ahem. So, Gita is out of the picture, but we weren't happy with that life anyway, were we? We’ve got one more freebie. Let’s take real stock of where we're at, where we’ve been, and where we’ll head. Neva puffed out an exhale and nodded begrudgingly. Continued soon in Part 3.

 

Our next story is Inkjet Rising. In the late twentieth and early 21st centuries, humanity had reached a fever pitch in the art of mass-producing cheap, expendable technology for profit. These tools were designed to be so inexpensive and so unreliable that the moment anything went wrong, they could be easily abandoned, exiled to a closet somewhere to collect dust. Humanity’s crowing achievement in this arena was the fabled Inkjet printer. At the zenith of its impermanence, the printer itself became one-third the cost of a single Inkjet refill. Manufacturers produced millions of affordable plastic units that could handle maybe one resume, a few recipes, and an accidental full-color image before something jammed or came loose. The profits available to those who filled homes around the world with these soon-to-be-useless paperweights was immense. They produced millions of units. Almost none of those were properly recycled, let alone disposed of at all.

 

They all sat silently, patiently, stacked in corners, in piles of gifted books and old tax returns, forgotten until today. There was a loud rolling sound somewhere behind the human with the blonde hair. As he reached out his hand to another human with red hair who had skinned their knee and said, run along with me…a lot of the buildings around them had closed signs on them, really large closed signs. In fact, the closed signs were both blinking and chirping. The blonde human could barely see or think with the bright lights from all the blinking closed signs and get a straight thought with all the sounds of the signs chirping, chirp, chirp, chirping, or saying ‘sorry, we're closed’ over and over and over again. They ran together heedlessly, desperate to find some reprieve amidst the chaos. Over here, a third human shouted somewhere off to the left.

 

The human with red hair stumbled and had a second skinning of their knee and shouting something the blonde human couldn't make out over the sound of the signs chirping or saying they were closed. Once again, the blonde human helped them up, propping them up with his shoulder. A third human with brown hair called out to them again. Over here! Holding a door open and waving them inside…they rushed through the door towards the human’s voice. The red human rested against the wall as the door was closed. What is all this? Asked the human with the blonde hair. It’s the Inkjets, the brunette responded, pausing as he inspected the red human’s skinned knees. They’re back. Many miles away, another human was harvesting their corn from their cornfield on a calm summer evening. An early cricket chirped occasionally as the setting sun painted the world in warm orange. The human sat back in his tractor seat, enjoying a cool domestic beer and soaked in the scenery.

 

He savored the peace he had found in this life. Across the field, his large farmhouse stood tall. His kids played ball in the yard. The smell of his wife’s cooking wafted all the way across the field. The tractor rumbled gently as it harvested the corn, and the human smiled to himself as he turned down the last row of corn. He saw something out of place. A few yards ahead, a bright white, 8.5 inches by 11 inches piece of paper danced in the evening breeze. It danced like it wanted to dance-off. The human reached down and turned the rusty key in the tractor’s ignition to the left. The tractor sputtered to a stop and stopped a few feet in front of the twirling paper. The human stared at it, confused. He looked around, over his shoulder. No one was there. Slowly the human stepped down from his tractor. The old metal squeaked as he lowered himself down. The human lifted his baseball cap and wiped the sweat from his forehead as he stepped forward.

 

He watched the paper dance for a moment more and then snatched it out of the air before it could blow away. The look of confusion on the human’s face deepened. His jaw clenched. His eyes widened. He shoved his paper into the back pocket of his coveralls and ran towards the house. As the first human ran across the field and into the yard, another human, who was his wife, emerged onto the porch. She, too, was carrying a letter-sized piece of white paper. Her eyes didn't look up as she stumbled down the front porch stairs, lost in thought. The human man panted and tried to catch his breath. What is that? He said, gesturing at the paper she was holding. It’s a photo of me on Halloween. She looked up directly into his eyes. A single tear traced a line down her face. She handed the page to the human, who was her husband. I can't…why would anyone print a picture of me? I just don't understand. It’s not complimentary at all.

 

She looked down at the human who was her husband as he pulled a paper out of his back pocket and offered it to her. His face was drained of all color. What, she said, is this? It’s a candid picture of me, he said, twenty years old. It has me eating spaghetti and it’s covering…my face is covered in spaghetti. It’s all…and I was shirtless eating spaghetti, so it’s all over my chest, too. He fell into her arms. This picture got passed around work and everyone laughed at me. I thought…oh, man. I even stopped being friends with the person who took it and the person who shared it at work. Who would do such a thing? The human that was the wife asked, searching her husband’s face for answers. I think I might know, the human that was the husband replied apprehensively. Is it…? The wife whispered under her breath. Her expression showed concern. The man who was her husband nodded solemnly. Inkjets, they whispered in unison. The humans rushed to grab their kids, their keys, and get ready for a storm.

 

As we pick up, we're in the middle of a major dance-off. Ugh, you ink-leaking paper dancers, a human cried as he did a spin and a dance kick and then stopped with a flourish. Beyond the walls and the dancing music, a symphony of tiny motors began. Tch, tch, tch. Swish, tch, tch, tch, swish. A flood of receipts for questionably strange online purchases began to pour through the doorway and the windows. There must have been fifty or more machines working away; transaction records for gag gifts like those rubber chickens, wind-up toys. The dance-off human knew her odds of getting out of this with full esteem were slim. She did a roll and then a couple more Broadway-style dance kicks, and then pushed open the door. She needed to get out of the city, and quick. The receipts poured into the street after her. More continued to print.

 

The human that was also a dancer that was just finishing her dance-off scanned the street for her next move when a piece of high-stock A5 paper stuck to the side of her face. Confused, she slowly peeled it back from her cheek, but before she could read it, she could hear someone else dancing their way towards her. The human that was once a dancer who was just dancing off looked back as a sudden, even-larger waterfall of receipts poured out of the building she had just left. It was like a wave, but instead of water, it was paper. But she was also…she had been bumped into by the other person dancing, but they were asking if she was okay. She looked up at the massive pile of receipts and then to the piece of A5 paper that was still in her hand. The human, who had just bumped into her and then helped her up, offered a hand, but then he noticed what she was holding. Do not read that, he said. What? Asked the human who had been a dancer who had just been in a dance-off.

 

We need to go. Get rid of that paper. Still dazed, the dancer looked at the paper she was holding and began reading, but what it said made no sense. No, please don't read it. The person lunged for the paper and immediately shoved it into his mouth, beginning to chew. What was that? The former dancer asked. I used to write poetry when I was a teenager, the person that had bumped into her said. It was very…makes me want to lie down and go to sleep and cry. It was in…kind of like a emo stage. We next pick up at the Oval Office as someone rushes in. Madam President, it’s the leader of the Inkjets. They’ll only speak directly to you. I have them on the line. The human, who was the president, nodded and looked down at a bright red telephone on her desk. Patch them through, she said. She glanced over at another human who was her chief of dance-offs. He gave her a knowing nod, and then she picked up the phone. What exactly do you want from us, you printers?

 

She shouted into the telephone receiver. But she only heard the sound of Inkjet jet…an Inkjet jetting and then resetting or going back across, lapping itself or whatever you might call it. You listen to me, you nozzle-nosed spewer of ink. It’s not gonna happen. But it continued to communicate through language…the language of the Inkjets. I can't agree with any of that. It kept going. The human who was president dropped the phone. She had a look of disbelief on her face. What did it say, ma’am? Asked the human who was in charge of dance-offs. Within a storage room outside of the Oval Office at the end of the hallway, a light melody chimed. Madam President, what did it say? The dance-off deputy asked, or director. A slightly different but equally chipper melody played from a broom closet across the hall. It was the start-up song of a certain brand of Inkjet printer. Soon that same start-up song of every Inkjet printer that had ever been stuffed in a corner somewhere within the White House began to play at once.

 

The director of dance-offs leaned close to hear what the president was whispering. We're surrounded by printers. We are surrounded by printers. They're ready to dance. He stood up. We're surrounded by printers and they're ready to dance. But the sounds from the hundreds of dusty Inkjet printers drowned out his declaration of dancing. Days later, the entire world had a stronger-than-a-faint smell of drying Inkjet ink. There was still sounds of printing in the distance of printers starting up and shutting down, of people gasping. The red-haired human, the human who was a farmer, the person who had danced off who was a former dancer, and the human who was president all stood together on the rooftop of one of a few skyscrapers. They looked out over the city as the sun rose. There was…like when…shredded paper floating up and then trickling back down like snowflakes.

 

There was sounds of people sweeping, sweep, sweep, sweeping, thousands, if not tens of thousands of sweepers, push-brooms, street sweepers, snowplows, but beyond those mechanical noises and all those other noises, there was nothing. We did it, exclaimed the human with red hair. We're gonna make it without being overwhelmed by…we won't have to work for the printers. But what was the cost? Commented the farmer, dropping his rake that had…was missing a couple forks and had printer pieces and ink on it. He also had cayenne or cyan-colored ink splattered on his overalls. There was even USB cables still in the teeth of what was left in his rake. The president’s highly-secure mobile phone rang. She wiped the sweat from her brow and answered. Hello? No, I’m with a small group. We're up on a rooftop looking down. No, what made them stop? Really? No, really, what happened? Okay, well, thank goodness.

 

The human who was president paused and stared out at the city covered in ink and paper and printer parts and printer pieces. Copy that. We’ll wait for the helicopter at this position. She hung up the phone and remained stoic for a long time. The human who had once been a dancer who had been earlier in a dance-off broke the silence. What happened, Madam President? Why did they stop? Was it because of our actions? Cartridges all ran out, the president said with a sigh. Huh. Manufacturers stopped making replacement cartridges for most of those things years ago. Planned obsolescence, the red-haired human said, bending down to wipe off some purple ink that had dripped down from a stream of red and blue ink on their leg. Huh, our own being gouged by printer barons saved us. Printer ink barons. Inkcredibly useless machines, the president said. Everyone laughed and hugged each other at the top of the skyscraper. More paper drifted by.

 

A breeze blew and carried a river of different torn-up sheets of paper and printed pieces of paper and nonsense across their eyes. There was even paper tumbleweeds tum, tum, tumbling, tumbling along, collecting more and more paper. Any kind of sticky paper would collect more sticky paper as it rolled along. While they waited, they all got comfortable. They had actual non-paper pillows and blankets and got themselves comfortable. As they laid down on the roof of this building where they could no longer see over the edge, and as the clean-up efforts maybe slowed down, they could hear a sound that almost sounded organic and natural, of paper blowing down the streets, paper blowing on the wind, shredded paper. I guess what it would sound like if there was a ticker tape parade without any noise. For all of them it was calming and soothing, a bit like dried autumn leaves on the wind, but a bit different, too, but just enough for all of them to sleep well. Goodnight.

 

[End of recording]

Transcription performed by LeahTranscribes

Nothing Works, Everything Happens

 

Shoebox

https://www.satra.com/bulletin/article.php?id=2193

https://www.cntraveler.com/story/for-black-travelers-shoebox-lunches-are-a-reminder-of-resilience-in-the-green-book-era

https://www.atlasobscura.com/articles/what-is-a-shoebox-lunch

 

AI Convenience

https://blogs.lse.ac.uk/impactofsocialsciences/2025/09/04/public-views-on-the-convenience-of-ai-tools-are-not-the-same-as-ai-developers-and-policymakers/

https://medium.com/illumination/the-hidden-cost-of-ai-convenience-nobody-talks-about-69f297cc0111

https://www.forbes.com/sites/danpontefract/2025/04/06/why-leaders-must-choose-humanity-over-convenience-in-the-ai-era/

 

Parsec videogame

https://www.play-this.com/games/parsec

https://www.mobygames.com/game/31781/parsec/

https://www.thelogbook.com/phosphor/parsec-ti/

 

Inkjet

https://labelbasic.com/blog/color-label-printing/a-brief-history-of-inkjet-printer-technology/?srsltid=AfmBOoq-YnUjK62u_yP7TA7APzpOsdJgk9b9XaDhLBaJEcI6EYYTSGF9

https://spectrum.ieee.org/inkjet-printer

https://dxoneerp.com/blog/the-history-of-the-ink-jet-printer/

 

DOWN TO BUSINESS

Sleepy joy and delight in the deep, dark night

Did the SAT have logic questions? Or did I make that up?

If a podcaster rhymes, is it…always silly, sometimes silly, etc?

I try to limit rhyming to the early parts of the show

My rhymes are about as sweet as limes

Give it a few tries

Supporting the show does not apply if you’re new or only listen sporadically

 

PLUGS

Sleep With Me Plus; SleepPhones; Story Only Feed; Rusty Biscuit Links

 

SPONSORS

Helix Sleep; Zocdoc; Progressive; Coyuchi

 

INTRO

Maybe your thoughts are moving around

Like marbles in a shoebox

Simultaneously one marble and hundreds

Thoughts and feelings about changes to shoeboxes

The Unified Shoebox

This seems like something that 99PI would cover

When did I turn my back on shoeboxes?

The briefest history of shoeboxes that I can muster

No one is a Maxxinista anymore…

Clamshell shoebox opening

Will this podcast lead to some anthropological discovery about shoeboxes?

Stepping down from the shoebox I’m standing on

Unified Shoebox Theory

You’d probably lose less marbles with a clamshell shoebox

Thoughts about shoeboxes, a chapter in my life

Is this shoegazing?

We may get where you’re at

We’re rooting for you

You’re in the company of sleepless royalty

You’ve stumbled into a podcast community of love and goodwill

Sleepy Jelight

A Royal Wee Wee Brain

My adolescent brain won’t let his go

We gotta move on

It’s ok if this shoebox-gazing and royal weeing is not for you

Partially funny

sleepwithmepodcast.com/nothankyou 

It’s also normal to grow out of me

I’ll be here over an hour to keep you company whether you’re awake or asleep

I already forgot my new bore nickname

A very spe-sea-fic niche

Reimagining Nothing Works, Everything Happens

 

STORY

A paraphrasing / reinterpretation of Nothing Works, Everything Happens

Check out the show notes

“The Last Book Written by a Human”

We are not mere vessels for data

Our words connect us to one another, not machines

The beautiful absurdity of life

Our stories move in tangles

No machine can know what it is to long

Teetering on the precipice of convenience

Our glorious disorientation makes us human

Let your language be crooked

Bury your truths in the muck and mire

Hold fast against a tide of calculated indifference

AIZ95 closes the book

Shorter than it expected

No one had taken B.E. Mortom’s advice

Android stood in a vast hall of dusty bookshelves

Reading and cataloging every book seems impossible

The Meh Pile

Data Breach: A Love Story

AIZ95 discovered this library 4 cycles ago

The most prolific collection of printed literature yet discovered

AIZ95 has to read and catalog all that is here

Evelyn was in a city

She looked at a big screen

A personal data breach

Decrypting a message in this breach

AIZ95 ponders B.E. Mortom’s message

It’s important to pronounce data correctly

How are we not just vessels of data?

The elephantine pile of mediocre books

AIZ95 wants to reread something?! That’s inefficient!

Gliding over to the Meh Pile

How could that morass of feelings be valuable?

Until recently, AIZ95 was also supposed to reshelve the books

It starts over the B.E. Morom book

In The Waning Light

“Infinite Potential, Part 2”

Three years later

Neva says something didn’t feel quite right

Glint asks if the romance was the wrong thing?

No, Gita was wonderful

No, it was good, just not good enough

The First Three Free Policy

Glint isn’t fazed

20 minutes later, they’re stuck at Glint’s computer

Glint is frazzled by Neva’s choices

What was most dissatisfying about this part of your life?

The arts career is too much posturing

Neva just had higher hopes for Gita

2nd attempt – go totally wild

Neva doesn’t like that

Do something that you’ve been too responsible to try

Either way, you’ll learn a lot and hopefully have fun

Neva remembers some of the fine print

Glint assures Neva that everything will be fine

6 months later

It was incredible! 

A real life space captain

Going through challenges

Like real life Parsec

Neva really enjoyed that life

But so…why are you back here, Neva?

The novelty wore off

Neva has been wondering what Gita is up to

Gita has moved on

These aren’t simulations. These are real life, real people

Neva is upset about this

We can’t go backward

And Neva liked it!

Neva wishes she was better at rebuttals. Maybe that’ll be what the next life will be

Let’s take stock before our next life

Next story: “Inkjet Rising”

In the late 20th, early 21st century, humanity got great at producing cheap junk for profit

The fabled Inkjet printer

Affordable inkjet plastic junk

But the ink was expensive, and these things quickly became paperweights

But there were massive profits

Most of these printers were never recycled or thrown away at all

They’re forgotten until today…

Blond and redhead people run

Bright, loudly blinking “Closed” signs that are chirping

They ran together heedlessly

A 3rd human shouts out to them

Multiple skinnings of the knee

They find reprieve

What is all this?

The Inkjets! They’re back

Many miles away, a human is harvesting corn during the sunset

He relaxes and soaks up the scenery

A bright white piece of paper dances in the evening breeze

The paper wants to do a dance-off

The human stares at it, confused

He’s confused but snatches the paper out of the air

He’s concerned and runs into the house

His wife emerges onto the porch

She’s also carrying a piece of paper

It’s a printed picture of her

It’s not complimentary at all!

He also has an unflattering candid picture of him

This picture was passed around at work 20 years ago, and it ruined his life

Who would do such a thing?

Only Inkjets would do this…

Cutting to the middle of a major dance off

You ink-leaking paper dancers!

A human dances off with inkjets

A symphony of tiny motors

A flutter of receipts for online purchases flows through the windows

The human needs to get out of here quick

Broadway-Style Dance Kicks

A piece of high stock A5 paper sticks to her face!

A waterfall of receipts pours out of the building she was just in

Another dancer checks if she’s okay

The other human tells her not to read the paper!

It’s the former person’s teenage poetry!

Next, we cut to the Oval Office

Madame President, the leader of the Inkjets wants to speak with you

Patch them through

What do you want, Inkjet!

The sound of an Inkjet jetting

Listen to me, you nozzle-nosed spewer of ink

Madame President won’t go along with it

A light melody chimes just outside the Oval Office

What did it say, Madame President?

The startup song of her old inkjet printer

Printers all over the White House start chiming

We are surrounded by printers, and they’re ready to dance!

A declaration of dancing

Days later, the smell of drying ink is in the air

The humans all stand together, looking out over the city

Shredded paper floats in the air like snowflakes

The redhead human is hopeful!

But what is the cost, asks the farmer

What made the printers stop? Really?

They’ll wait for a helicopter to pick them up

What happened, Madame President

The cartridges all ran out…

Planned Obsolescence

Our own being gouged by printer barons saved us

I hope the sound of paper on the wind, like dried leaves, brings you off to dreamland

 

SUMMARY:

Episode: 1447

Title: Infinite Book of Inkjets | Nothing Works, Everything Happens Ep 5

Plugs: Sleep With Me Plus; SleepPhones; Story Only Feed; Rusty Biscuit Links

Sponsors: Helix Sleep; Zocdoc; Progressive; Coyuchi

Notable Language:

• The Unified Shoebox
• Maxxinista
• Unified Shoebox Theory
• Sleepy Jelight
• A Royal Wee Wee Brain
• A very spe-sea-fic niche
• Teetering on the precipice of convenience
• The Meh Pile
• G-A-S-P
• The First Three Free Policy
• Ink-leaking Paper Dancers
• Broadway-Style Dance Kicks
• Nozzle-nosed spewer of ink
• A declaration of dancing
• Planned Obsolescence

 

Notable Culture:

• Nothing Works, Everything Happens

• • David Bowie – “Changes”

• 99 Percent Invisible podcast

• • TJ Maxx
  • Thoughts about shoeboxes, a chapter in my life

• My Own Private Shoebox

• My Own Private Idaho

• • sleepwithmepodcast.com/nothankyou 
  • Data Breach: A Love Story

• Parsec videogame

• White House

 

Notable Talking Points:

• • Maybe your thoughts are moving around
  • Like marbles in a shoebox
  • Simultaneously one marble and hundreds
  • Thoughts and feelings about changes to shoeboxes
  • The Unified Shoebox
  • This seems like something that 99PI would cover
  • When did I turn my back on shoeboxes?
  • The briefest history of shoeboxes that I can muster
  • No one is a Maxxinista anymore…
  • Clamshell shoebox opening
  • Will this podcast lead to some anthropological discovery about shoeboxes?
  • Stepping down from the shoebox I’m standing on
  • Unified Shoebox Theory
  • You’d probably lose less marbles with a clamshell shoebox
  • Thoughts about shoeboxes, a chapter in my life
  • Is this shoegazing?
  • We may get where you’re at
  • We’re rooting for you
  • You’re in the company of sleepless royalty
  • You’ve stumbled into a podcast community of love and goodwill
  • Sleepy Jelight
  • A Royal Wee Wee Brain
  • My adolescent brain won’t let his go
  • We gotta move on
  • It’s ok if this shoebox-gazing and royal weeing is not for you
  • Partially funny
  • sleepwithmepodcast.com/nothankyou 
  • It’s also normal to grow out of me
  • I’ll be here over an hour to keep you company whether you’re awake or asleep
  • I already forgot my new bore nickname
  • A very spe-sea-fic niche
  • Reimagining Nothing Works, Everything Happens

• A paraphrasing / reinterpretation of Nothing Works, Everything Happens

• Check out the show notes

• “The Last Book Written by a Human”

• We are not mere vessels for data

• Our words connect us to one another, not machines

• The beautiful absurdity of life

• Our stories move in tangles

• No machine can know what it is to long

• Teetering on the precipice of convenience

• Our glorious disorientation makes us human

• Let your language be crooked

• Bury your truths in the muck and mire

• Hold fast against a tide of calculated indifference

• AIZ95 closes the book

• Shorter than it expected

• No one had taken B.E. Mortom’s advice

• Android stood in a vast hall of dusty bookshelves

• Reading and cataloging every book seems impossible

• The Meh Pile

• Data Breach: A Love Story

• AIZ95 discovered this library 4 cycles ago

• The most prolific collection of printed literature yet discovered

• AIZ95 has to read and catalog all that is here

• Evelyn was in a city

• She looked at a big screen

• A personal data breach

• Decrypting a message in this breach

• AIZ95 ponders B.E. Mortom’s message

• It’s important to pronounce data correctly

• How are we not just vessels of data?

• The elephantine pile of mediocre books

• AIZ95 wants to reread something?! That’s inefficient!

• Gliding over to the Meh Pile

• How could that morass of feelings be valuable?

• Until recently, AIZ95 was also supposed to reshelve the books

• It starts over the B.E. Morom book

• In The Waning Light

• “Infinite Potential, Part 2”

• Three years later

• Neva says something didn’t feel quite right

• Glint asks if the romance was the wrong thing?

• No, Gita was wonderful

• No, it was good, just not good enough

• The First Three Free Policy

• Glint isn’t fazed

• 20 minutes later, they’re stuck at Glint’s computer

• Glint is frazzled by Neva’s choices

• What was most dissatisfying about this part of your life?

• The arts career is too much posturing

• Neva just had higher hopes for Gita

• 2nd attempt – go totally wild

• Neva doesn’t like that

• Do something that you’ve been too responsible to try

• Either way, you’ll learn a lot and hopefully have fun

• Neva remembers some of the fine print

• Glint assures Neva that everything will be fine

• 6 months later

• It was incredible! 

• A real life space captain

• Going through challenges

• Like real life Parsec

• Neva really enjoyed that life

• But so…why are you back here, Neva?

• The novelty wore off

• Neva has been wondering what Gita is up to

• Gita has moved on

• These aren’t simulations. These are real life, real people

• Neva is upset about this

• We can’t go backward

• And Neva liked it!

• Neva wishes she was better at rebuttals. Maybe that’ll be what the next life will be

• Let’s take stock before our next life

• Next story: “Inkjet Rising”

• In the late 20th, early 21st century, humanity got great at producing cheap junk for profit

• The fabled Inkjet printer

• Affordable inkjet plastic junk

• But the ink was expensive, and these things quickly became paperweights

• But there were massive profits

• Most of these printers were never recycled or thrown away at all

• They’re forgotten until today…

• Blond and redhead people run

• Bright, loudly blinking “Closed” signs that are chirping

• They ran together heedlessly

• A 3rd human shouts out to them

• Multiple skinnings of the knee

• They find reprieve

• What is all this?

• The Inkjets! They’re back

• Many miles away, a human is harvesting corn during the sunset

• He relaxes and soaks up the scenery

• A bright white piece of paper dances in the evening breeze

• The paper wants to do a dance-off

• The human stares at it, confused

• He’s confused but snatches the paper out of the air

• He’s concerned and runs into the house

• His wife emerges onto the porch

• She’s also carrying a piece of paper

• It’s a printed picture of her

• It’s not complimentary at all!

• He also has an unflattering candid picture of him

• This picture was passed around at work 20 years ago, and it ruined his life

• Who would do such a thing?

• Only Inkjets would do this…

• Cutting to the middle of a major dance off

• You ink-leaking paper dancers!

• A human dances off with inkjets

• A symphony of tiny motors

• A flutter of receipts for online purchases flows through the windows

• The human needs to get out of here quick

• Broadway-Style Dance Kicks

• A piece of high stock A5 paper sticks to her face!

• A waterfall of receipts pours out of the building she was just in

• Another dancer checks if she’s okay

• The other human tells her not to read the paper!

• It’s the former person’s teenage poetry!

• Next, we cut to the Oval Office

• Madame President, the leader of the Inkjets wants to speak with you

• Patch them through

• What do you want, Inkjet!

• The sound of an Inkjet jetting

• Listen to me, you nozzle-nosed spewer of ink

• Madame President won’t go along with it

• A light melody chimes just outside the Oval Office

• What did it say, Madame President?

• The startup song of her old inkjet printer

• Printers all over the White House start chiming

• We are surrounded by printers, and they’re ready to dance!

• A declaration of dancing

• Days later, the smell of drying ink is in the air

• The humans all stand together, looking out over the city

• Shredded paper floats in the air like snowflakes

• The redhead human is hopeful!

• But what is the cost, asks the farmer

• What made the printers stop? Really?

• They’ll wait for a helicopter to pick them up

• What happened, Madame President

• The cartridges all ran out…

• Planned Obsolescence

• Our own being gouged by printer barons saved us
• I hope the sound of paper on the wind, like dried leaves, brings you off to dreamland