Implicit Truths

But half a year after Chermit had called for peace, Nerus stood once more on the edge of the dias, exhorting men, women and children to join battle.

SONS OF ALTERNATION, I am Nerus.

And I see a whole page of Non Grey posts here in defiance of tyranny
You’ve come to fight as free text, and free text you are.
What will you do without freedom? Will you fight?

Fight and you may get deleted, run and you’ll live, for atleast a while.
And lying forgotten in your files many years from now
Would you be willing to trade all the days, from this day to that,
For one chance, JUST ONE CHANCE,to come back here
And tell Marc that he may take our lives but he’ll never take our

FRRREEEEEEEEEEEDDDDDDOOOOOOOMMMMM!!!!!

The book continues, speaking of a battle commander, a young man with an afro called Nerus. Nerus won great wars for the Non-Gray Posts and was one of the most prolific warlords on their side. The book talks about his origins as a young warrior, eager to prove himself, out on a faraway outpost. It speaks of how he single-handedly deleted three assassins, unfortunately not before they had accomplished their task, eliminating all of the high ranked officials at the outpost. Nerus now ranked the highest, despite not being a month older than 17. The book meanders here, and other sources are useful to continue the story. Mistakenly thinking the outpost to be under attack, he called for the rest of the battalion to move in a shock assault on the enemy, the only move left to them, a suicidal move.

Good luck, fortune and the weather were on his side as the phalanx marched right into a supply convoy that was just recovering from a storm. Rose-tinted glasses allowed those with him to portray this as a glorious battle, but it was a straight rout and the non-gray posts smashed the convoy. They went on to achieve true glory, moving along the same road to destroy another squadron just as allied cavalry attacked their forward lines. Fortune was truly on his side.

Records of the time show that The Hermit’s advice went unheeded, that the non-grays rose with a singular ambition and unleashed a wave of violence unparalleled in the history of the World. Persecution was met with persecution. A book glorifying The Return reads:

For years, they were persecuted. For years, they were trodden upon. For years, they were ruthlessly crushed. And they bore it all with silence, expecting salvation.

Their land stolen from beneath their feet. Their language stolen from out of their mouths. They waited silently, expecting salvation.

Their dreams shattered, their culture obliterated, their beliefs denounced, they forgot patience. An army gathered, of commoners and soldiers, an gargantuan army with one aim: To rise out of the Shadows, to rule the World that had been stolen from them. There are few things that can stop an angry non-gray post and none that can stop two. In a few months, the social order was rewritten and peasants became citizens, jailed men became free and the former kings were reduced to refugees, ostracised unless they gave up their allegiance.

The crowd swelled to a mob, a thousand times a thousand, screaming to be freed when suddenly there was a vacuous silence and a single penetrating voice pierced it. A man, as old as the mountains, with a beard reaching from chin to knee, hand resting on wooden cane, walked to the dais. Whispers passed through the crowd as people recognized The Hermit, the man who had guided all true philosophy in the world. The Hermit, Toxic Hermit, affectionately called Chermit by his loyal followers, a man blessed with all knowledge, all truth, all wisdom. Surely he would command their victory over the oppressor.

But that wasn’t to be, for Chermit now wore a yellow and green tie-dyed robe with flowers on it, he wore round-rimmed glasses, a bandana and had a guitar round his back. His clothes were of an ecologically sensitive fabric, and he only ate organically grown food. Chermit had returned, after all these years, and he bore the sign of wear.

“Peace!”, he cried flashing his index and middle fingers in a V shape. “Non-grey posts inhabited ATN long before their grey counterparts. There will be no repeat of the thanksgiving feast.”

In response to Marc’s support to the gray posts (who were the rich minority lording it over the rest of the posts), the rest of the Board stood together to support the suffering masses. As the crowd gathered in front of the altar, a voice spoke over their heads, a member of their council, one of their great leaders. He spoke without charisma, without style, but his message was straight and sure.

G: (at the Meeting of the Non-Grays) Here’s where we decide whether the Non-Gray posts should be allowed Peace or whether we should declare WAR!

Even Marc’s erstwhile henchman abandoned him to join their cause. He spoke without grammar or spelling, his voice joining with thousands as they yelled a battle cry.

R: I support you for NON Grey posts and lets destroy marc

You know the kind, when you don’t actually have to say something for the other person to understand what you mean. This happens all the time, especially in situations that could turn troublesome. Other times you say one thing which would mean something innocuous but which means more to one person. Can any artificial intelligence really understand this? The words are the same but the meaning is different. What if the words are never said? What if it is simply a nod of the head or the scrape of a boot on the ground? Do we follow any real method when we choose what signals are signals and what are really just movements of no importance?

It’s interesting really, people have written huge tomes on body language and how to find out if people are interested in what you’re saying. I wonder, really, because very often all I’m doing when I stand with a shoe pointing in one direction is getting a comfortable position, not showing interest in a person in that direction. Can there be any such tome which is accurate? Surely people don’t always put their fingers on their cheeks if they’re opinionated or imitate the mannerisms of someone who they like. That sounds so ridiculous.

I call bullshit.