Current Transmissions:


Conflict Resolution II

Version Crimson.4

Riveta stared intently at the screen. The net-cafe was busy this morning, emails getting checked, flash games played, clips watched. She had been here since the place opened, as directed. Made sure she sat at the right terminal. Logged onto the message-board using the account she had been provided. 

Reading for hours, exchanges between posters about anti-oppression theory, magickal practices, comic books,  technological developments. There was a long thread about a decision to ban one of the posters, pages upon pages of text debating communication styles, scientific methodology, language and identity. It was an argument, a discussion, a lament, a challenge. 

She watched the words on the screen stream and interlock, conjuring patterns of meaning, mysteries of intent, little pixelated sticks and curves summoning epic passions and petty indulgences. Figures and grounds. The beauty of connection and the terror of disconnection. The thoughts of dozens of people spread across the planet, caged, transmuted, sent into combat with each other. Agonizing contortions of principles and visions, to make a determination of the future presence or absence of one current of text on the message board. To silence or to manage, to embrace or to resist.

How could something so small feel so huge? she thought.
What is it the Professor wants me to see?