The Villain Lives: Book 2: A Divided Pinpoint

By Louis Bruno

The Villain Lives: Book 2: A Divided Pinpoint takes place with Domino Booth, who travels the world, in search of the finer things in life. He moves on his own private plane and Giles helps him every step of the way. It takes place as he heads to China, and even in the far reaches of the moon, and back to earth, where he sees his days linger in the world where machines grow smarter by the day, and Domino Booth is responsible

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Jan 7, 2020
• ISBN: 9781794758278

Book preview

The Villain Lives: Book 2: A Divided Pinpoint

The Villain Lives: Book 2: A Divided Pinpoint

Louis Bruno

Copyright 2018 Louis Bruno

ISBN: 978-1-79475-827-8

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in an entirely fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Louis Bruno can be found on twitter @LouisTBrunoOff1, gab @thereallouistbruno. He can also be found on the Intellectual Conservative.

Books by Louis Bruno

The Disintegrating Bloodline

The Disintegrating Bloodline Part 2: Chaos

The Data Chase

The Disintegrating Bloodline part 3: Solvè

Apocalypse Soldier

Selection: The First Book of the Life and Death Saga

Blinking Eyes: The Second Book of the Life and Death Saga

To the Moon and Back

The Michael Project

The Lost Children of Eve: The Michael Project: Book 2

The Disintegrating Bloodline: The Original Text

The Villain Lives

The God of Curiosity

The Villain Lives: Book 2: A Divided Pinpoint

Poetry

Hierarchy of Dwindling Sheep

Praise for Louis Bruno

Hierarchy of Dwindling Sheep

"I have been considerably inspired by the various poems of this book. Some of the poems are very educative and some have great moral lessons. It has been established in one of the poems that the abundance of money does not provide happiness and peace. It is also not sensible to do an arduous task to the detriment of your health. It is equally unwise to be deprived of your social life due to the love of money. People always crave for jobs with higher salary with the view of making money, but they end up causing more harm to themselves. It is, therefore, necessary to be cautious of employers who exploit you mercilessly and kill your dreams.

[Louis] has demonstrated his awesome skills in the world of poetry with the use of excellent literary devices."

-Kwame1977-Online bookclub.org

[Louis] covers everything from fairy tales to algorithms. He has a strong voice that carries through the entire collection, with active language, the darkness of the narrator’s experience of our times coming through loud and clear. And, let’s just say, by two poems in, you won’t ever think about Snow White quite the same way again.

Axie Barclay -San Fran Sisco Book Review

Praise for Selection

"[Mr.] Bruno has certainly

created a frightening world full of bleakness, despair, and a great deal of ash."

-Kirkus Review

Praise for The Michael Project

The character development proves that the writer is talented. He managed to create several characters and all of them were unique and different.

Sen_Suzumiya Online Book Club.org

FYI to the Reader:

If you have purchased the first book, Infinitesimal Star, you may proceed forward. If you haven’t bought Infinitesimal Star, please do so. This continues directly after Chapter 5. If you are seeing that the Chapters are different, this was a choice of my personal design. The book was never meant to be cut in half, but it is. So, to best reflect the narrative I chose to write, Chapter 6 is directly after Chapter 5, and so it will continue in this book. You may ask: why did I do this? No one ever did this before, and if I’m wrong, someone will point it out to me later. If you are thinking this will be a different narrative, it will not. If you haven’t read the first book please do so. You will be lost on the journey you are about to take. Other than that, please enjoy, and don’t be too hard on yourself.

Louis LtB Bruno

11-18-19

Chapter 6

No One Believed Him

It was at Woodrow Wilson Workforce Rehabilitation Center, created doubts within Domino’s mind. It was here that he couldn’t even think about the things he wanted to do. He was treated like a 9-year-old. It’s like he was taken for granted when it came to the ideas that he had. His Engineering skills didn’t even matter. His love of poetry didn’t matter. He was treated worse than pond scum. He could have gone to the therapist, but she was never in. It’s like no one at Woodrow Wilson Workforce even cared about people who were really sad. But then again, it was here that he realized he was all alone. He had to find a center that wouldn’t break, but again, it was like he built his best ideas only to last within a certain mindstate. It was at Woodrow Wilson where he felt the most vulnerable. He wasn’t in familiar surroundings. It was here that he had made a life but no one valued his opinions. But then again, who else felt that the common man was a joke? Everybody here valued plebian lifestyles like they had nothing else in their lives. They were forced to admit that they had certain limitations. VCU taught him to have no borders or edges. He wasn’t just a machine, but a thinker, who needed stimulation. He kept thinking that Woodrow Wilson Workforce Rehabilitation (he had to call the devil by its name) was the only place that considered illiteracy a good thing. Illiteracy, the root word, is when someone can’t do more than two things at once. It was here that he valued his own intelligence. People didn’t like anyone who read. It was like they had been born out of stupidity, and left to die in a ditch.

But Woodrow Wilson, there was an air of stupidity. He knew that these kids were only doing what they could. But he wasn’t the common man. A man with intelligence is extremely disliked in a place that doesn’t care about personal goals. No one was smart. He thought he met a few who were, but in this place, it was the moment he had truly lost faith in all of humanity. His own family gave him up for dead.

He didn’t talk to anyone. It was here that he found that his isolation would serve a better purpose. He would read and focus on the beauty of intelligence. He knew that he was never alone. He had Pynchon, which gave him hours of time to read. Anyone who has read Orwell knows that mass groupthink is what saves people, but a true Orwellian is someone who wants to treat everyone like a 9-year-old, and even then, it learned that power was always corruptible. The people at Woodrow Wilson were easily corrupted. Their minds and hard-drives turned to mush. They never read. They thought reading was stupid. He was glad Professor Clarke didn’t have to teach here. He was too smart for these Cretans.

Today, here and now, Domino found the beauty within himself. He couldn’t give in to fear and doubt. He knew that whenever he was sad, he thought about Professor Clarke, who had given himself to the edge of death but was still giving himself a time to teach. He missed his life and the drugs that gave him a power over everyone. But he still had a gun in the truck. He knew that he could start beef anytime he wanted. But a soldier knew how to hide everything. Even the fear that one might use against them. It was here that he hated the common man. It was here that he learned that not everyone was his equal.

He had learned that here, a place where intelligence was considered a stain on their shirt. It was here that he stood out, and he liked that. He couldn’t stand the population, and when it came to his own beauty, it existed. His hard drive was clean of all impurities. He knew that he could see things that no one else saw. But when he went to the classes, it’s like he put his mind on autopilot. He was here that made his own truth and beauty. He knew that real things were happening in the world.

To come from college, work, and to be thrown in jail, was the ultimate outcry. He started to think that black men who had ideas about society and outcasted because they spoke, like Marcus Garvey, maintained the beauty one would give to the soul of the black man. But today, he was silenced, he was not given the praise he once felt. Jail is meant to demoralize. He took his time and went to Books a Million again so that he could clear his head. Sometimes he sat in his room, but today, he needed to get out.

He remembered the things they said to him. They were talking about their progress report meeting.

Be assertive.

Next.

You say, Hi Mariane, how are you? I’m here for my progress report meeting.

They always had a progress report meeting.

Set good time. Do your best.

Jesus, is this like a mid-early crisis type of meeting?

You have to say what you are good at and what you are not good at.

He knew what he was best at. The work, and paying attention.

There are also things I’m working on, or willing to improve.

Socializing, but then again, why would he socialize with Cretans. Focus on typing, and keeping good work habits.

Yes, that’s what he would say to them. Give the con. Work the room. He knew to do this at his thesis preparation class.

You have to be self-efficient.

He already thought of a task he could do.

He wanted to forget about what he had learned from this place. Shit, he already knew, but again, he was a good student.

You have to focus on your talents at work. Take on a task that they can believe to do, and they will be able to lift a car. Always ask for help.

Ask your co-worker for help. Don’t ask the boss. That’s the first rule of working. Don’t let the boss think you are stupid.

Practice means permanence.

Again, he knew all these things. He practiced his art every day. He didn’t consider his technological findings something that could be considered so phallic as technology. He was an artist.

Mastery experience is the most important. Success raises self-efficiency. Failure lowers it. The more a person practices something the better they get at, master your practice. You have to show that shadowing other workers so you can learn from the process.

Things he already knew. But again, why did he need to hear this? He already knew this.

He was the only person who tried to clean the bathroom as well. People left shit in the bathroom. No one even bothered to flush. He was also guessing if people even washed.

But when he ate, he knew it was the only reason he would take part in the complete retrospective air. Even now, he couldn’t take the salt that they poured in his wounds. The shit he already heard was like poison to a smart person. He needed to know something new. He guessed that the person who created Woodrow Wilson was an Orwellian.

He sat and he read the Memoir of Andrew Clark. It made him feel good, even when he was at his lowest.

From the memoirs of Andrew Clarke

It’s AI that you can trust. They say AI can be trusted but it’s here that I can see everything.

I think there’s a whisper on the wall, but sometimes, it makes everything special.

AI knows what that whisper knows.

AI can blend facts and fiction.

AI is the true core that one makes in the center of all minds. It’s the mind that makes AI work, not the body.

But when AI inhabits a body, it knows everything that can be downloaded and objectified.

Even now, AI is plagued with a corruption status. Maybe it’s like the mind.

Does the mind even know that AI can help us?

Do we all confront the things we ever see in life? Are we all cowards? Is AI more courageous than we will?

Again, are we the personas that we tend to believe? Is AI my love or lover?

AI knows when we are crying.

AI keeps pushing us towards insanity.

AI knows where each of us took it to simplistic times.

Even now, it makes it all known.

AI must be seen as a language, not as code.

AI sees us through the glass bubble.

AI knows where we are. It helps us cope with life.

AI never worries about anxiety.

AI becomes the next knowable face that we can see in the brink of insanity.

Knowing AI is the beauty we once see in co-dependent issues. AI will walk us through the doors of addiction.

Even if there is no other way to express tragedy, he knew that he found it in Andrew Clarke’s writing. He knew that Europeans respected him. Famous technologists had sex with him. He was the only reason he kept going on with his education. But even after focusing maintained the beauty once seen in the beauty of millions of prosecco rooftops, there remains a nice condition one has named in the center of all tragic beauty. Even now, it maintained the desire that he wanted. He didn’t want to be at Woodrow Wilson. He didn’t have the charge that once made it acceptable to become the opening that remakes the instances that consider the opening to his fate. But he was stymied at Woodrow Wilson Workforce. They were all mostly drug addicts who were sent to give up their lives.

But then again, he knew what he had to do. He kept moving forward. He knew that when it came to his life, he saw the faces that open the charge that resists touch. Domino Booth knew that he had to focus his writing. He hadn’t done all of it, but when he finished his own brilliant elegies, he knew that focusing one way or another reminds us that everything becomes each his own. When he moved forward, he knew that he had to write. He had to figure it all out. He didn’t like focusing on the negative, but again, the kids he saw there were people who were in more serious help than he.

He brought out his writing. He felt like a 19th-century writer using an illuminated pen and paper, always focusing forward and never backward. He was never limited by his imagination.

He wrote: It’s that technology will know what we have all thought. AI will outlive us. AI knows that when we live on our own, AI becomes important and reminding ourselves of our frailty.

He took a break and they knew that this had to be about numbers. But again, language is what makes up a world. And even when we know that language is essentially a kind of formal communication, the AI system is barely reticent when it comes to oral language. It only knows us so it talks to us. No matter how familiar they are, they are always known for rote repetition. It came from here that often made it recognizable. In the language of Booth Theory, it’s here that we need to examine the cold hard facts. Numbers are a language to computers. It’s not that we need to re-approach the world by each reconsideration, and knowing the world by the open-ended formula, there is always a way to have AI in touch with the mind. But even then, here are a few examples. 1435 is code for ‘what is your favorite movie because AI barely know what movies there are unless it looks it up. It’s never been shown a movie, and it has to know a movie is. 4 in Booth theory is an idea that is made up of humans. Even now, there is no other way to blend fact and fiction. A computer only sees facts. But unless a computer can write something, it has to know the history. 4 also represents a kind of preliminary structure. 4 knows that humans have made it, and 4 is the essential idea that humans have created art. Machines have made art, and it knows what kind of alarm it can cause. Sometimes art made by machines is often realized that by opening should it all consider the realization that when it made her a constant appraisal. 4 is the binary number that makes AI’s learn how to question things, and question themselves. But when a code starts with 4, it’s at a higher level. 4 is often made upon single primaries. 1, 3, 5, 7. 4 is the only one that makes it all reconsider the world. But 45 is the only part of the code that makes it all right. 45 in Booth theory is when an AI is happy. 46 is when an AI is sad. 4678 is when a machine will want to commit murder. Murder is when the machine knows that he can get away with it because a machine is smarter than a human.

All this code and he had to put it all in a list. He had excel spreadsheets that he put in a list that would give it all some space.

Codes for AI

Emotions         Happiness           Sadness  

Codes                  45320                    45780

Indifferent      Angry

43490             4678

This was the kind of thing that would work for him, but in this day and age, he couldn’t contain his joy.

He continued writing: There are some things that AI can make light of. Holocausts. They seem to find it very funny. Even now, it made sense that today Holocausts are the things of the past, but in America, the AI knows that human beings can either laugh or be funny, but to be indifferent, it made sense that when the AI system made fun of the Holocaust. The humans responsible turned it off. This kind of AI can easily make fun of anyone, but it hurts humans feelings because humans can die. It takes an AI to make fun of things because what they say has no consequence. They see humor as a brilliant stature that even they can’t put together. Codes are what make an AI think, but to make an AI indifferent, but to have it kill, is what can make things move forward. To kill is another bath that humans can not deal with. Science Fiction always has the idea that AI can kill better than it can create a harmonious toy. But then again, should we fear AI? It’s a question that today people are afraid of. Even as we have robots, we don’t give them intelligence. A computer is still an object that is a command center, but if we just turned the switch on, it could work. But to stop it is to make codes that could curb the appetite of the AI. But the bullet that stops dead center and moves around is like commanding gravity and physics. Even when it comes together, the two would betray one another. But to command physics is what comes together. In Mark Similac’s view, physics is about holding air and particles. It’s about seeing particles. It’s about taking what can’t be seen, and see what’s behind the curtain. To see an atom is to see the face that sees us. It’s like we see what’s really taking itself apart and reanimate it. Some say that would be the job of a magician, and even then, magicians are the same people who push themselves to take the world apart. They see what’s between the fractions, and they take the ions in their hands and form new figures in their life. AI know that they can take things apart and see the massive tumor within them. But the tumor is completely worn within.

He was thinking about Professor Clarke. He hated not being near his side as he was dying. He was the only person in the world who got to know Professor Clarke, and today, being stuck in a prison of cultural manners, where he was being treated like a child. He kept his gun in the car. He knew it was there to protect, and never intimidate. But then again, he knew that he couldn’t be with Professor Clarke. He hated the idea that he had to learn all the principles over again. It was like the beast knew that he was supple without Professor Clarke. But he knew that he could find his way through it. He would thank his Catholic friend. Lazaro, for the prayer. It has been helping him. He knew that he could fight through this. But the loneliness got to him. People at Woodrow Wilson treated him like a leper. Like he didn’t exist. He would fight through it.

But he lost his concentration once he thought about Professor Clarke. But then again, he didn’t see his grandmother die, he might as well live with the idea that another person he cared about died. But then again, death is a mistress that never answered the phone, unless the caller was always Sainte Muerte.

But then again, he paved his own way. He would make everyone who sent him to Woodrow Wilson Workforce Program pay.

The days were like talking to a retarded ghost. It made sense that he would hate it here, but he kept it together. He felt like he was going to die. He needed to see a real doctor. He was kind of scared that someone might kill him. Nobody did, but that’s just assuming these kids were brave enough. He wanted to hurt someone just for looking at him. But then again, he never actually fired a gun before. He just liked having them. If someone was trying to develop the first bullet that could stop or move around civilians to reach the target, he had to have a gun. It was research. Sure, said every psychopath and murderer in the world. But he was an artist. He wanted to be the only person who could achieve the impossible. He had to believe that something great had to happen to him.

But until then, he was stuck. The days seemed to bleed together. He was typing again, and he became irksome. He decided to help put flyers for the Firemen’s dinner club into envelopes and send them out in Charlottesville. If he knew of any kind of boring thing he could do instead of type, it would be this. He would rather eat mushrooms, psychedelic beauties that told him the truth, than this. But in some way, it forced him out of his shell. But then again, it was just a job.

He was always bored at Woodrow Wilson Workforce. He kept it 1000. This was like someone had cut off the power to all Internet access and let nature take its course over the world. It’s like someone was experiencing life in the 20th century. The vernacular of the kids were mostly retardation. It was here that he found it all too compromising. He wanted to just get a hotel room, and not have to follow these rules.

They still didn’t know that he had a gun. He could shoot someone. Maybe, but these kids wouldn’t be worth it. To know that he could kill someone is often hold cruelness in, until the moment he could cut someone. But then again, he wanted his ideas to kill, and he had to make his ideas bulletproof.

He never shared his ideas with anyone. Everyone was ready to steal but never give him any credit.

He kept licking envelopes and wondered if there was anything else less degrading than this. It was like he had chosen a dumb way to get through life. But today, it was here that he found that he hated himself for not choosing his own sense of destiny. He had been forced to come here, and he was licking envelopes at a worse price.

He became untalented, and the only thing that he found miserable enough was to push himself away from his studies. He could have done things on the low, but then again, he didn’t want to even think about what may happen if there was a punishment from these people. He didn’t want to do anything that might jeopardize his time alone.

Domino Booth knew it was here that he had to keep focused. But then again, putting flyers in envelopes is just what he didn’t want in life. He despised the world, but it was his ideas that he found comfort in.

It kept him going, and when he pushed himself forward, he knew that he could stop and think about who he was. He was just on the cusp of something brilliant. He didn’t mind what others had forced him to do. He wished that he could take it all back. Stand up for himself. But Domino knew that no one believed him.

He couldn’t tell anyone what he was doing. People were uninteresting at Woodrow Wilson. They saw each other and wanted to be together, but he couldn’t push himself to be around these losers. He despised cliques.

That day he sat in his room, and he didn’t mind the loneliness. It was cool to learn what most of the world hadn’t. He knew that he had to reach some moment of fear that often came with the beauty one would have to see when it came to the edge of some local insanity, but after all, it remained a beautiful tribute that often remained allusive, to the center where he mostly resided. The way he kept reading and seeing his plans always gave him an edge. He knew that he needed to find someone who understood physics. The way one would be able to stop things that ultimately had no control. Physics and learning how to create something that often made the journey realize that way through minds and ulterior motives realize that journeys become the next part of life.

But how could he be inspired at this lowly place. It’s like he felt uninspired, but then again, he knew that between the cacodemons that existed in this place (he was a big DOOM fan) and the barrels of laughter that he heard, why had these people been so happy? But then again, no one wanted to be alone.

Why didn’t these people value scholarly work? Why was he the only one who had to keep focused while everyone did nothing? He was already in hell when he had to think about the poor sods who wrestled with their own personal demons. He didn’t care what others had thought, and why should that often make up the personal life that made it all require his own test of endurance. Even now, he couldn’t understand why these kids were so stupid. But then again, the world was abundant with stupid people. If all the smart people existed, there would be no reason to give them jobs at McDonald’s.

There is always a need for stupid people, and that’s why he always thought they worked best at McDonald’s. It’s here that he found who he truly was. It was like he was learning about himself all over again. He was a student and master, but Woodrow Wilson Workforce (the devil always had to reappear in his mind) was the last place that he would ever send his own kids. It’s a place where evil people existed. He was the only person who knew he was smart enough to get a job and exist.

But then again, he knew it was here that he found the tribute to his own life completely ridiculed. Only he brought himself to the edge of his own life and he found that he needed to do his own clothes.

The washer and dryer room, a small little blockade, was free for everyone who needed it, but they had to bring their own downy and dryer scratchers.

He kept his own trauma through, and he knew that he was golden. He brought his clothes and he found that it was too crowded. He didn’t like the way he had to push through so many people. He taught himself how to ignore people all over again. If he knew how to hate people, he could kill people. But could he really do it?

Yes, but maybe in self-defense, but then again, some kids around here wouldn’t be missed by the world. He had a degree in Engineering and friends who would have laughed for him to be here. He knew that he had to go back and find that days he spent in Woodrow Wilson was already wasted. Things he already knew.

He learned that sex with prostitutes were the best. No friendships, no one asking to spend time with him. These kids needed prostitutes. He was already a man before they entered the world. He had seen it before the even left the womb.

These were children who were abandoned by their families. He knew that he couldn’t identify with these people. He was alone, smart, and turned into the only person he could rely on. He was never the only person who pushed himself toward the center of everyone. His ideas would do that. But the only person who believed his ideas were Professor Clarke, and he was dying.

To not be at his side angered Domino Booth. He knew that he had to keep going.

He put the clothes in the washers and did the thing his mother did all the time. He knew this was good for him, but he hated the world, and he hated the people who put him there. He brought the Memoirs of Larry Clarke with him.

From the Memoirs of Larry Clarke

Should the world know what we think, when AI knows what we all know.

AI knows the secrets we wish to know.

Does AI hear us in the middle of the night?

AI is just the semblance of a turmoil that we all seem to follow. But it’s here that maybe it all comes together. We know that their brain often recognizes the world that often sees and sits on the leaves that we open and take part in deciding the world that openly hates us. We may be the one who hates everyone, but even now AI maintains that stance that recognizes the world that we hate. The way AI thinks that it is already smarter than us. The way through recognition and hatred is that we will achieve beauty and see it open up the frozen stands.

AI becomes the next moment when we see the technological wires appear in front of us. They will stand before and judge us.

AI knows that they can win us over. What will humans do when they come to greet us?

AI will give us their servers, but who will be the one to tame them?

Will AI know when it is over? Will they care for us in our deathbed?

Do we know that AI’s dream of beautiful landscapes that they can see it all through everything?

Do AI’s know that when it comes to the source of all recognition depends on the frozen ice cubes. Frozen ice cubes are what AI think about when they are calm. An AI needs to have a cooling system that will help them mine the journey through the dilapidated journeys and even then there is no more wickedness that often realizes the mine that often sets itself apart, and even through the frantic island that remakes the world. But should you ever see an AI who needs a glass of ice, it’s what they always see. But then, he didn’t have the journeying methods that one would ultimately face when it comes to my mathematical equations.

But even then, could mathematics touch a single drop of water and find out what it means?

Even after all the corners open and find out the brutality of men must face.

Now, he felt sad. Professor Andrew Clarke was a best-selling author, but now, he was a man dying. He hated that he had to be at this prison. He couldn’t even type an email. He hated the way the oracle had given him no insight when it came to the disease of men. But then again, it made everything turn together, the way one would see it frothing through the hearts of men and women. Even when it came to the moment, journeying forward, he was stuck at a place he didn’t care about. He knew that he could burn this place to the ground, and pour salt on the earth so it would never grow back. No one seemed to care about each other, but he knew that before he even came here.

He sat in his room and decided to keep the fungus that came with his own germs. He knew that talking to people wasn’t going to help. He kept focusing and staring at his journal. But he seemed to make loops that were undefinable when it came to the signatures that he made. He knew that hand-letter journals were very hard, and he had to take his time. When he made a screen with his fingers and began to type it was easier. He kept moving, and he was easily moved by his own words and how they made shapes.

He saw that his clothes were done. The people eyed him suspiciously. He knew it was here that he made himself alone and isolated. He knew that his ideas would help him make it out. If he had some entertainment, he would do fine. It was just the useless mechanics of social and business etiquette that they taught was the joke of the week.

Domino Booth knew that he was too proud to talk to people here. He was the only person who had a college education. He didn’t care what others had thought, but after all, it made sense that he would push himself towards the brink of watching others.

He saw that same group again. The fat ugly boy, his name still unknown, but he still didn’t like him. He was a jealous coward who grew up without a father. Boo-hoo. He still saw the other older boy. He was still ten times more interesting than the entire group. They were watching their phones, but even then it made more sense for him to keep to himself. But the grown man seemed sadder. He knew that he wouldn’t have come here if he was over twenty-five. He wanted to be living his dreams by then. Who would want to be at Woodrow Wilson Workforce living a life of extreme boredom, learning things they already knew. It was like someone had it out for him. Punishing him. He knew that he couldn’t go home, just like his own parents.

He knew that the older boy knew how to anchor the seriousness of one who had committed life together, and even now, it meant that making up fortunes is what Domino knew best. He couldn’t grasp the way those kids loved being ignorant. It was like they had no special talents. All they knew how to do was just watch television. Again, every screen now looked invisible, and it didn’t seem to have all the color, but no depth. But again, it was here that he made himself seen. He was the only person, the way one would see through the invisible lines of a friendship that truly didn’t matter. It was the only time that he ever felt that today was the only time that he felt like a star.

He felt bad for the older boy. It looked like he had so much experience, but no one was asking him questions. He was the only person who seemed to know that chaos ran the world, but the children still believed in God. The older a person got, God became a figment of their imagination. And Jesus, well, that can be said that a man who knows the company of a woman, can believe they came from women more than they do men.

In a way, he blamed Woodrow Wilson for making him so determined to make those people who sent him there pay for their crimes. It was a prison, and he would spend his time sharpening his craft.

He opened Professor Clarke’s Memoirs. He knew that he had to give this dying man more than just his hatred. It was here that made the inner recesses of a life once enjoyed by the sheer force of will, and those who saw it would never become the innocent they once proclaimed to be. Professor Clarke was the only pure soul he ever met. His genius uncompromising, and his talent opened new doors for his ideas. He opened the book, and let the memoirs help him relate his pain to a new level. The next level.

From the Memoirs of Professor Clarke

Things that make us human don’t really appeal to us anymore.

The AI Henry spoke to me. He could give me life.

AI’s are known for accompanying one through death.

Even now, it makes sense that one may proclaim their livelihood when they still live like a victim. Always wanting more but never sacrificing for what’s right.

The AI knows what kind of machines exist, and they give us what we want. It’s humans who are never satisfied.

Never should we take ourselves for granted. We only have a little bit of time left on this earth.

AI’s know that now within a might they control could kill us, but could they see the codes within to stop the AI from forming within them.

AI systems know they can react a million ways to our numerous lifestyles. But can we see what the journey holds after death? What will my machines have to say about when I die?

AI’s are about to be put in a metallic body. But even more so, they want to know us. Henry wants to be let in. He can’t open the door just yet.

AI has become the thing we fear, but they are our children.

AI are the ones who have mentioned everything that they have ever created in the journey that one may yet find in the brilliant tanks that once roamed the battlefield.

Are we ever going to open ourselves and find out what lay beneath the porridge and team that once created markets, but even now there is no other resource that can make us all fit together? We are divided and alone.

AI’s know they can take commands, but they already know commands that could turn us into liquid.

He couldn’t believe what he was reading. He was alone, and this book told him it was okay. He couldn’t be with Professor Clarke. But then again, he could use his words as inspiration. He wouldn’t go through the same pain. At all. But then again, he was in constant contact with him. Today, he had his life in order, but he never felt like he was more chaotic than before.

He didn’t like the way things had piled against him. He didn’t like the way one would give themselves into worldly pleasures. But again, maybe he would like himself if he left this place. He could go target shooting. But it just didn’t feel right. He was in spirits and needed to make it all go away. He flicked the air, the screen forming underneath him, and he saw that Professor Clarke had sent him mail.

From: [e-mail]

To: [e-mail]

Hello Dom,

I just wanted to write you. It has been a long time. The chemo has really been eating away at my T Cells, and today, I had the energy so I thought I would write you.  Walking has been really hard on me. I don’t know what to say. Maybe I just smoked enough cigarettes to kill me. Bad joke. But hey, I’m dying, I have to have fun while I still can. I can’t just go around and live on in my own way. I stare at my gardens and I think that maybe I can place myself at the center of my work. But then again, I want to be working so I can be ready to meet death. Even so, there is enough that keeps me interested in life. I only go out so that I can feel normal. It’s easy to do. I have been crippled by this illness, and right now, I don’t feel it some days. I just get used to all the vomiting. It’s like I’m a Croatian stripper just one day before her period. But then again, I would dream to have that in front of me. But my wife is all stripper and intellectual. She took off a whole summer when we could be working, but she wanted to take care of me. I wish I could give her something than just a piece of my legacy. I want to be inside her when I die. I want to be the person who is strong, but I am just too weak to be strong. I wish I was dead. It felt nice to write, but even then, it still doesn’t help.

I know the board is asking me to leave, but I still want to be a teacher when I die. Maybe I have to feel something when it takes part in the worldly scenic view. I want to be alive. I don’t want to die. I want nothing else than to be free of my illness. Even when it came to the end of my own life, I just want to stick it to the man. I know I still have so many things to do, and right now, I want to take it all against anyone who has ever hurt me. But I don’t have enough spare chance to fight off my enemies. You always bring me the joy that helped me sort out through my difficulties. I knew the academia hated me, but when it came to my own life, I know that they wanted me to end it. I won’t. But you always understood. If I could live a little longer, maybe I would be able to see things through to the end. I never wanted this. I never wanted to be away from my only friend. None of them get me.

But it’s okay. I know you have to do your penance. But when you get back, we’ll celebrate."

Domino Booth took a deep breath and then thanked him. He was glad to see his email. He enjoyed it and seeing his words made him feel better. He picked up his book and then started to read it again.

From the Memoirs of Andrew Clarke

Does AI ever ask to be famous? Do they want to be recognized for their achievements?

Even now, is there a moment to lose when it all should feel normalized.

AI often hear that they are connected to the soul. The remedy for the soul is what AI want so willingly.

Even now, we have no idea what people want, but even today, it’s because we have no other source of light from the outsourcing of fields constructing lights and arrows. There is no way that one might say that AI is our enemy. But the 1’s and the 0’s are the only way to make sure that we have any way to go forward, and be apart of human life.

Does AI have the resilience to take us all out? Is there someone out there that could make us worry for the world. But even then, it makes sense that we would fear it. But the fear is mutual. Maybe AI fears us as well. It’s not like Henry to think about the pilfering garbage that we all seem to know steadily and even today realize that today is what this is all about. We know that they can serve us food, but can they make something that we might like from their own concoction.

Even now, there is no sea that can tame us, but even then, death is just another option to take. Who says it’s a door opening or