On/Off

 

One/Zero

 

Yes/No

 

True/False

 

Input/Output

 

When broken down in its most basic form, the building block of a logic-based system starts with a single switch. 

 

It is a beginning.  

 

A start. 

 

A moment of time that, while it has been repeated over the course of eons, the very first time seems to have been lost to that ethereal mist of a past Age; an Age beyond what is considered antiquity, beyond even myth.

 

The First Time.

 

The concept of its reality, its existence, inferred only as a tenet of faith. 

 

Faith: the reliable expectation of hoped-for things though unseen. 

 

A hypothesis formed yet lacking empirical evidence. 

 

A theory.

 

Like the Origin Theory.  Pre-hyperspace flight, pre-space flight, pre-industiral….technological…  It can be inferred that such a time existed for humanity, that they evolved upon a single world.   A world forgotten, where a people and events have disappeared from conscious memory.

 

But everything has a beginning.

 

The universe.  Stars.  Worlds.  Societies.  People.  Birth.  

 

A spark that  becomes the origin point of a multiverse of stories.  Stories that grow exponentially as evolution takes over.

 

Evolution of species.

 

Evolution of civilizations.

 

Evolution of technology.

 

Until a peak is reached and all advancement plateaus.  Entropy sets in and what was at first viewed as a downward trend becomes a decline and eventually a fall.

 

Then the cycle starts again.

 

So, in light of this:  How many cycles have passed? 

Or, put another way, how many times has the same road been travelled?  How many times has the same technology been lost and subsequently reinvented?

 

A question whose answer is unknowable and yet a question to which one knows that there is an answer.

 

…even if lost to time.

 

 

*

 

A scorpion wants to cross a river but cannot swim, so it asks a frog to carry it across. The frog hesitates, afraid that the scorpion might sting it, but the scorpion promises not to, pointing out that they would both drown if the scorpion killed the frog in the middle of the river. The frog considers this argument sensible and agrees to transport the scorpion. The frog lets the scorpion climb on its back and begins to swim. Midway across the river, the scorpion stings the frog anyway, dooming them both. The dying frog asks the scorpion why it stung despite knowing the consequence, to which the scorpion replies: "I couldn't help it. It's in my nature."

 

Does the nature of a thing dictate the ultimate destiny of that thing?

The frog, sensible, reasonable, helpful, trusting

The scorpion, martial, powerful, logical

 

Both slaves to their nature. 

 

Good vs. Evil

 

The Good espousing the virtue gained should an evil one transcend to become good.

The Evil offering the tempting self-satisfaction if a good one surrenders to basic desires considered inherently evil.

 

Both a transcendence of their original nature to comething different.

 

But are they?

 

Because according to the story, both die.

 

So what is the point?

 

A Jedi to Sith. 

A Sith to Jedi? 

A Republic to Imperial?

An Imperial to Republic?

 

In the end, does it really matter?

 

Only if you are the storyteller...

The man opened his eyes and scanned a bare room.  How large or  how small unknown as the area outside the range of the singular light overhead was shrouded in black.  What he could see was a square gray carpet on the floor black geometric designs.  On the carpet was a rather worn leather lounge chair with a small round table next to it.

 

He narrowed his eyes at the spartan scene not remembering how he came to be here but instead of feeling anxious, he felt annoyed.  It conjured up a memory of long ago, when he was a teenager.  A schoolmate had come to him with question that sounded pretentious. 

 

“What would your first reaction be if you woke up inside a pitch black box?” they had asked.  If he remembered correctly, the box was essentially a coffin and based on one’s answer would be an indication of how one would deal with death.  Most kids would shout.  Others would bang on the walls in an effort to escape.  What did he say?

 

“I would go back to sleep.” he murmured, smirking as he walked over to the lounge chair and started  to sit down.

 

What if you are dead?

 

The internal question came unbidden but it was not his own thought.  At least not consciously.   Yet, it seemed to demand an answer so the man decided to take his time and complete his effort to sit down in the lounge chair. 

 

If I am going crazy, I might as well be comfortable.

 

The question came unbidden again.  What if you are dead?

 

“Then it doesn’t really matter, does it?” he answered back  aloud, chuckling.

 

Do you not fear death?

 

“Depends on the circumstances, I suppose.”

 

Explain.

 

“Well, if I am already dead, what is there to be afraid of?  If I am not dead, then I do not find the environment I am in very frightening.  In fact, it is downright comfortable.  Now my answer may change if I suddenly find myself inside a Sarlaac Pit being slowly dissolved.”

 

Would it surprise you to know that most consider you a crass and unpleasant man?

 

“Well that’s because they just don’t know me,” the man purred, a smirk cracking his lips.

 

You seem to revel in the reputation.

 

“I do not live my life to please others so I might as well..”

 

Why?  Did your mother not teach you that you can catch more flies with honey?

 

The man’s eyes narrowed slightly before taking on an unconcerned glance to the empty round table.   “If I am going to talk about my mother, I might as well be provided with something to wet my whistle with.  Don’t you think?”

 

What would you like?

 

“Something bitter and sweet, top shelf, about yea-high.”

 

The requested beverage appeared on the table.  The glass was cool to the touch and when he took a sip, he nodded admiringly.

 

Did your mother raise  you to act as you do now?

 

The man smiled.  “My mother.  My father.  They loved me and taught me all they knew.”

 

So they were as crass as you are now?

 

He took another  sip of his drink, “This isn’t bad.”  He sat back enjoying the feeling of warmth start to spread.  “I had a happy childhood.  But, no.  My parents did not live long enough to enjoy being crass themselves.”

 

So you are a product of your trauma?

 

The man frowned, “My trauma?  You mean like those Jedi or Sith who frequent seedy bars because of a family tragedy that causes them to hate their opposites?  How can I get mad at at what amounted to a natural disaster?”

 

So then why?

 

The seated man sighed, “While my parents taught me everything they knew, they did not teach me everything I know.”

 

But you are not taken seriously.

 

The smirk turned shark-like, “I am taken seriously by those who matter.  Everything else is fluff.”

 

Then you are a joke.

 

“And a joke is?”

 

A story with a humorous climax.

 

The man laughed.  “That fits.”

 

But you are undignified.  For all your talking, for all your stories with humorous climaxes, all you have been doing has been into the void.  No one listens when you speak.

 

The man shrugged, “That is their right.  And I am notsurprised.”

 

Then why do you persist?

 

The man took another sip of his drink before  sitting up.  “The stories I tell are hurtful.  They are designed to illicit an emotional reaction.  I will poke, prod, smash or crush verbally anyone who sets themselves up in opposition to me.  It is a weapon that can be as potent as a turbo laser battery if used correctly and, given my situation, it is one of the few remaining in my arsenal.  So excuse me if I continue to use it.”

 

If your opposite numbers will not listen, then how effective a weapon can it be?

 

“I am not talking too other leaders.  I may talk about them, but not too them.  They may find comfort in platitudes like, ‘not stooping to my level’ or other such nonsense.  They would not deign to impune their dignitas by responding to my words or ‘dignify my words by commenting on them’ but they are not the only ones listening.  They fill their minds with images of duels at forty paces, a clash of dueling blades or a white glove slap across the cheek to illustrate their displeasure but they are living in a romanticized version of life.  As if war is a game with rules.   War is not clean.  It is not romantic and,” the man grinned, “it is not…dignified.  I just do not have the time for bullshit.”

 

 

*silence*

 

 

Your words show considerable restraint than previously noted.  Why was that?  And why did you ask for the drink?

 

The man leaned back in the chair.  "Well, why expend all my usual effort if I am only talking to myself?   And by asking for a drink, in the manner in which I did, helps verify I am not dead... That this is not all in my head.  While not perfectly conclusive, with my limited sensory input, it helped me come to the conclusion that this is not a psychotic break.  That this is … that you are.. something else.  So I will lay back down and wait to see what unfolds.”

I do not  think I respect you.

 

The man smirked, “Imagine my hurt feelings.”

 

What do you think of Wine?

 

“It’ll get the job done if you’ve nothing else on hand.”

 

Marisinthe?

 

“Like I said, she’ll get the job done.”  The man’s grin widened.  “And she had small tits.”

 

She was a Sith.

 

The man laughed.  “Well, she could suck the chrome off a droid.  She should have stuck to that rather than playing the moronic Sith-game of murder.  I mean, if she really did not want to fuck the guy, why was she working for a pimp?    A guy gets off work and wants his knob polished and pays for the privilege only to  have his life cut short because some Sith bitch takes exception?”

 

Maybe she had no choice.

 

“She was a Sith with a lightsaber.  She had a choice.  It’s just that there is this Sith need to shock others by convincing them that they bathe in the blood of their enemies’ babies.  Like they need some sort of validation from others that, yes, they are evil.  They get all done up as if they revel in getting their black leather clothes stained in blood.  The girls pretending they get some sort of sexual high out of the act of licking some hobo’s blood off their fingers to hide the fact that they were raped by their fathers.  Or they tatoo their face away thinking it makes them look scary or brood… Yes, I never met a Sith who did not like a good brood.  Coloring their eyes with black eyeliner and blurt out absurd comments about their lust turning angel wings to dust or whatnot.  As if fucking or killing a fictional religious icon makes them more evil.”

 

I am sure they take your words to heart.

 

“Then you are a moron as well.  Everyone knows the Sith will continue to deny the truth until their brains are flash-fried by a blaster bolt to the head.” 

 

You are agitated.

 

“Talking about the Sith will do that and my drink is empty!”

 

Would you like something different?

 

“No, what you gave me was good.  Another, please.”

 

You said ‘please’.

 

“Well, you are giving me what I want so a little politeness goes a long way.”

 

You can be taught.

 

The man laughed.  “Well, you will find, if you do not  already know, everyone is polite and nice as long as they are getting what they want.  Deny them and they will fuck your sister, shoot your dog and scratch profanities onto your favorite landspeeder.”

 

Why?

 

“Because everyone is a selfish bastard.”

 

You did not always believe this way.

 

“Yeah well, I used to believe that pretending I was a vampire was cool.  Until I was old enough to realize walking around as a dead person with pointy teeth was not as romantic as the holovids made it out to be.  Sith, vampires and this weird fascination with people’s blood.  They should all get herpes sucking tainted blood. ”

 

Has everything earned your utter contempt?

 

The man’s laugh turned into a cough.  He took a sip of his drink and pointed to nothing , “Now, you begin to scratch the surface of life.”

 

Explain.

 

“Contempt strips away the pretentions, the facades, the bullshit everyone cloaks themselves with… their excuses, their morality, their ideology…Strip it! Burn it all away!”

 

To what end?

 

“To get the measure of a person.”

 

OF what benefit is it to gain the measure of a person only to lose your life?

 

“Of what benefit is a life lived in its never ending cyclical nature without the ability to change?”