We missed the mark on that whole Singularity thing.
Hindsight's 20:20. Polarization drew us to two nodes, left and right. We should've noticed the AI pulling the strings.
It wasn't a Singularity; it was a Duality.
Turtle approached the finish line confidently. But this time was different. Hare was there, patiently waiting for Turtle.
"What changed?" Turtle asked.
"I went to a psychiatrist," Hare replied. "I'm on Ritalin. It's really helping."
Turtle smiled. "Glad to hear it, friend."
"Have you ever watched Limitless?"
"Sure. Magic drug makes you smart."
"This pill can do that. For real."
"Ok, I'll try it."
He intuited the gestalt of the universe, and began scribbling notes.
He continued scribbling, first on a computer, then on paper, then on the padded wall.
"I can't figure out this bug. I've gone over the code a dozen times."
"What's it doing?"
"No matter what I do, it outputs a semicolon and an open parentheses."
"Sounds like a prank. When did it start?"
"After I disconnected the computer from the network."
As a child, he explored fantasy realms. His mind wandered as he battled monsters and saved damsels.
Years passed. His imagination faded. Eventually, he lost the knack, and even the memory of his adventures waned.
Years later, he was given tea by a stranger. Upon drinking it, his realms reopened.
His books inspired millions. He always self-published — he couldn't stand the publishing industry and its strictures.
When he died, he left no heirs. In his will, he put his private journal up for auction. The proceeds would go to charity.
The bidding was a foregone conclusion. A vengeful publishing conglomerate spent what it took to win, intent on publishing the journal posthumously.
In the end, he had the last laugh. The pages were blank.