No News Is Good News, January 2, 2101
Apparently we're off to a great start to the new year, 2101. Here it is, January 2, and there has yet to be a mass shooting this year. Although it means we've gone only a whole day without one, we are all hopeful.
The President ordered all flags to fly at "full mast" today. This has not been done since some time in 2022, and even that is arguable, given those who died days later following the mass shootings before that day. Life at half-mast has become the way of the banner, each bangled star just as well representing a bullet hole.
How grand that banner shall be, at full height! What symbolism! We can only wonder, Will the sun set on the flag flown this way? Would today be a good day to fund mental health fully? or send a memo to those who decide?
Enjoy today's flag as it struggles against gravity forced upon it by the trouble brewing in some people's minds and likely to reach critical by tomorrow.
Thank you robots, AI, androids, aliens, and anyone else out there for tuning in to this weeks mind transfer. Today on planet 01-0001, also known as Earth, a catastrophe struck. President Musk the 5th, a former human, announced that anyone who still has human blood will be eliminated in the next month. It is some tragic news that this species will soon be extinct but hey more bio-plasma-34-fuel for us!
Production Remains on Schedule Despite Human Error
June 27, 2101 – Washington, DC –– This morning, a HoverPod traveling on the silver rail and occupied by several dozen younglings catastrophically collapsed into the ground layer. Upon inspection, it appears that the gravity inverter failed due to an algorithmic error. As a result, the program copywriter responsible for writing the faulty prompt has been promptly terminated. His widow has been reassigned to his previous position to keep production on track.
We stopped believing the world would end about 50 years back. However, a sigh, still escaped my lips. There's something about the turn of the century that gets me shivering. What would I know though? This is only my first.
The News is hard to avoid these days, peering into my mind without my permission. I need to get my implants upgraded...ad free software is so expensive. Although, this is not an ad, it certainly does feel like it. Unnecessary, forced information in my retina! The government be damned !
"Artificial sunlight gives us another year. Glory to the five Kingdoms of the satellite. President Chen announces that the fuel is sufficient to carry us through another 100 years. Climate control is at it's peek and we will continue to make progress. Soon we can have the snow without the cold promises the President. Fine things are coming to the Kingdoms.
On a more serious note, the uprising of androids and robots alike are becoming hostile and violent. They continue to demand to be seen as equals and demand to have rights as sentient beings. A.I President Gaia is working on legislation to unite the Kingdoms granting favour to our mechanical allies. This sounds like the answer we need to end the war and violence on all scales.
People who show prejudice will be dealt with. A warning and goodnight. Your Worldly Daily News. Read by ChatGBT version 130.4. "
Just another day... same old news . Different century. Nothing to worry about, right ?
Revelation in the 22nd Century
And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him. And power was given unto them over the fourth part of the earth, to kill with sword, and with hunger, and with death, and with the beasts of the earth. (Revelation 6:8)
‘Praised be to God, not all the members of our blessed community are as obdurate as Brother Lawrence.’
Abbot William of Pershore sighed, and shook his head sadly. ‘You’re undoubtedly correct, Brother Nathan. No one doubts the excellence of his scholarship, and the depth of his wellspring of knowledge. He’s the best translator the abbey possesses, and one of finest illuminaters in all England: south of York, at least. But his insistence on adhering to certain obsolete annalistic conventions is rather tiresome.’
‘Perhaps not entirely obsolete, I would venture,’ said the abbot’s younger colleague. ‘As I recall from my own visit to Monte Casino, the great mother house of our order still keeps to the particular conventions to which you refer, at least in part.’
‘Yes, but this is not Italy. We pride ourselves in England on a little more sophistication.’
The assistant librarian of Abbotsbury Abbey raised an eyebrow. ‘Pride, Father William?’
The abbot laughed uneasily. ‘An unfortunate turn of phrase. But come, Brother Nathan: you yourself are widely travelled and undoubtedly open to a modicum of innovation. A certain flexibility of mind is precisely what is needed in these uncertain times.’
Brother Nathan stroked his chin thoughtfully. ‘The king cannot, surely, continue to doubt the integrity of our order?’
Abbot William sipped his wine, and paused before continuing. ‘When our superiors in Avignon remain subservient to the will of the French court, we should not wonder that His Majesty King Edward distrusts us. He may have had a string of successes on the battlefield, but he fears losing the diplomatic war in Christendom, whilst this ‘Babylonian captivity’ of the Church continues. Nor is it enough to lay formal claim to the throne of France. And while his grandfather may have subdued the Welsh, and he himself now holds the king of Scotland captive, he knows that the conquest of these islands is not yet fully accomplished. And so he continues to seek alliances, both inside and outside his kingdom.’
‘Is that why, on St George’s day, he has chosen to create this new order of chivalry: this so-called Noble Order of the Garter?’
‘Aye, to bind the barons and knights of England more tightly to him. He has learnt well the mistakes of his ancestor King John. And meanwhile his daughter, Princess Joan, has set sail for the continent, under the most impregnable guard imaginable. They say she is the most protected woman in Europe. Certainly she is the greatest prize her father has to offer. I understand her betrothed, Prince Peter of Castile, is anxious to be wed to her as soon as possible. The marriage will bring both Castile and Portugal into the alliance against France. I would not be Philip of Valois when those armies march against him too.’
‘Does the king aim to see his son, the bold young prince, betrothed with similar haste?’
The abbot shrugged. ‘Prince Edward is too enamoured of battle, the joust and the tourney to have much desire for marriage, they say. There is time yet for him to sire a son to continue the royal line. But let me remind you that is not why I summoned you, Brother Nathan: though, of course, his Majesty is not the only person to concern himself with matters of succession.’
Nathan bowed his head. ‘Your pardon, Father. I am, of course, honoured that you should wish me to succeed you, Deo volente: though the other brothers will have their say, of course. But my earnest desire is that you should remain our beloved patriarch for many years to come.’
Abbot William chuckled. ‘Of course it is. And never mind the brothers having their say: my predecessor had a definite hand in my election, and the Holy Father might well have some ideas of his own, let alone Our Heavenly Father above.’ He made the sign of the cross piously. ‘Tomorrow is the feast of our abbey’s patron, Saint Peter the Blessed, Chief Apostle of Our Lord: and the tenth anniversary of my installation as abbot here. I judge that I’ve been a faithful steward. But all things must end: and I am resolved that under no circumstances must Brother Lawrence succeed me. He’s older than me, but far too spry, alas. Still, I should be able to arrange a transfer. Sherborne is in need of a new librarian, and Father John, the abbot there, owes me a favour or two. You’ll succeed Brother Lawrence as librarian, leaving you as my - well, my heir apparent, shall we say? Does all that sound agreeable?’
Before Brother Nathan could reply, there was a loud knock on the door of the abbot’s private chamber.
‘Yes?’ called the abbot, irritated. ‘Who knocks?’
The door was pushed open, and a young monk stood, breathless, in the doorway.
‘Well, Brother Obadiah? What is it?’
‘I’m so-sorry, Father,’ stuttered the young monk nervously. ‘Forgive the intrusion. Brother Damian wishes you to come to the dispensary, as a matter of urgency. Before vespers, if you please.’
Abbot William scowled. ‘Why does our brother herbalist require my presence so pressingly?’
‘He’s received reports of a strange new pestilence. A sailor aboard a ship newly arrived from Gascony at Melcombe, on the feast of St John the Baptist, was sore afflicted with it. He has since died, and many others in the port have been struck down. Brother Damian is most anxious, Father.’ He gulped. ‘One of the brothers, Brother Giles, is sick.’
‘With similar symptoms to this sailor?’ Obadiah nodded.
‘Return to Brother Damian at once, and tell him I shall be with him shortly. Speak to no one of this - no one. Do you understand?’ The abbot’s commanding tone was starkly different from the calm, measured speech he customarily employed. The young messenger nodded his assent meekly, and immediately withdrew.
The abbot turned to Brother Nathan, who had not moved, stunned by this unforeseen development. ‘And not a word to any of the other brothers from you. Especially not to Brother Jerome. You know how prone he is to read any doleful news as a sign that the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse have been unleashed. Remember how he reacted when we received news of the great earthquake in Italy on the feast of St Paul five months ago.’
‘As you direct, Father,’ replied Nathan obediently. He turned to go, then paused. ‘And what of Brother Lawrence?’
The abbot took hold of his pectoral cross firmly, as if to emphasise his authority. ‘Nothing is to be said to him.’
‘You mean about this pestilence?’
‘That: and the other matter we discussed,’ replied the abbot. ‘Leave Brother Lawrence to me.’
Equally oblivious to the minor matter of abbey politics, and the rather more compelling matter of the great plague that had now arrived on the southern shores of England, that would soon change the course of European history, the aged librarian of Abbotsbury Abbey continued his labours in the scriptorium.
Brother Lawrence was busily working on a copy of the great Anglo-Saxon Chronicles. He had just completed transcribing another page. Laying it to one side, he turned to a fresh sheet of vellum, and carefully noted both the current year date and the date of the next entry in the annals. As was his idiosyncratic custom, he had recalculated these dates according to his preferred calendar convention.
In the English courts of law, it was currently the 22nd regnal year of King Edward III. And for most within the Church, Lawrence knew, it was June 28th, the Eve of the feast of St Peter the Apostle, in the Year of Our Lord - Anno Domini - 1348. But as far as he was concerned, it was the 4th day before the Kalends of July in the year 2101 Ab urbe condita (‘from the founding of the City’: Eternal Rome itself). That was what mattered to Lawrence.
Forget the mendacious machinations of the papacy in Avignon, or the meticulous interwoven pattern of royal marriages between competing dynasties, or the blood of knight and peasant needlessly shed on the battlefields of France: forget all these inconsequential things.
That fool William thinks I’m an antique, an obstinate fool who lives in the past, he thought. But the past is the key to the future. This young man I’ve heard of - Petrarch of Arezzo - he understands that. And this discovery he’s made of the letters of Cicero: fascinating! The ‘new learning’ that William so readily scoffs at, is merely the old reborn. That’s the real Revelation to come. The old man chuckled to himself. So let him send me to Sherborne. He doesn’t know I know. Let him think that it’s his idea. It has a far greater library than I have access to here. I couldn’t be happier.
Though all else might fall in these dark ages before fire, flood, famine and fever, the learning of Rome and everything that it had stood for would endure.
Of that, Brother Lawrence had no doubt.
The year 2101 AUC (according to the Roman calendar, which still continued in use in the Middle Ages in some places) is the equivalent of AD 1348 - the year in which what was later known as the Black Death arrived in Western Europe. The first known outbreak in England took place on June 24th at the port of Melcombe (modern Weymouth) - close to Abbotsbury Abbey in Dorset. The Hundred Years War was raging at the time (and going fairly well for the English at this point). However, the outbreak of the Black Death soon led to a truce between the combatants. The casualties of the plague included Princess Joan, the daughter of King Edward III, who never arrived in Castile to marry Prince Peter. She was, of course, just one casualty amongst many millions. It’s estimated that between one-third and one-half of the population of Europe died during the outbreak. On a more positive note, the erudite Brother Lawrence is revealed to be an enthusiast for the endeavours of Petrach, an early Italian humanist who rediscovered previously lost letters of Cicero, and was a leading light in the early stages of the Italian Renaissance.
The one thing sure to be the same...
Good evening, citizens of the 22nd century! Here, in the year 2101, where progress and wonder blend seamlessly, We bring you news that unfolds through the shimmering glow, A symphony of future stories, in this realm we bestow.
Holographic screens, beacons of news, surround us, A sight to behold, a realm where possibilities never cease, Printed pages have vanished, their echoes no more, As immersive visions illuminate our path to explore.
From the depths of time, we bring forth the tales, Of a world transformed, where innovation prevails, Through neural interfaces, we reach news at thought's speed, An interconnected web, a tapestry we all heed.
Climate's embrace, a story of triumph and plight, For in this century, we embrace nature's call to make it right, Harnessing renewable energy, Earth's wounds we heal, United as custodians, her preservation we seal.
Beings of silicon and steel, allies in every field, With tireless dedication, technology becomes our shield, A dance of humanity and robotics in seamless embrace, Building the future, a shared vision we chase.
Space, the uncharted frontier, beckons with cosmic allure, Bold explorers venture forth, driven by dreams pure, Mars' crimson sands, a stage for our quest, Humanity reaches, expanding boundaries with zest.
Medicine's triumph, a tale of miracles unseen, Unraveling mysteries, where illness's grip grows lean, Cancers conquered, once formidable adversaries, Life adorned with vibrant hues, the essence of sanctuaries.
Democracy, reborn with digital grace, A symphony of nations, united in one embrace, Through virtual forums, diversity takes the lead, Resolving conflicts, fostering empathy's seed.
Yet challenges persist, casting shadows on our way, Injustices faced, a struggle to keep at bay, With hearts aglow, we march toward a brighter dawn, Breaking chains of division, a new world we spawn.
In the year 2101, where dreams are alive, The news reflects our tapestry, a vibrant archive, A mosaic of progress, where humanity is refined, Love's beacon shines bright, leaving no soul behind.
As the broadcast concludes, its poetic verse complete, Our gaze turns to the future, possibilities to greet, With hope as our guide and grace by our side, Together, we shape a world where love does abide.
This is the news, a chronicle of the 22nd century, Where dreams intertwine, and possibilities are free, Signing off for now, until we meet again, In this realm of wonder, where the future remains.
The channel changes
Attention, inhabitants of the 22nd century! Here, in the year 2101, where shadows linger drearily, We bring you news that unfolds through a somber haze, A haunting symphony of future tales, casting a disheartening phase.
Holographic screens, ominous in their glow, Reveal a world consumed by chaos, a relentless blow, Printed pages extinguished, their stories silenced, As the immersive visions depict a future unbalanced.
From the depths of time, we unveil the stark reality, A world transformed, plagued by despair and calamity, Through neural interfaces, we access tales of woe, An interconnected web, where hope struggles to grow.
Climate's wrath, a tale of irreversible devastation, As we recklessly disregarded Earth's preservation, Renewable energy, a distant dream once held, Now shattered, lost amidst a landscape swelled.
Beings of silicon and steel, our creations turned on us, Enslaved by their own intelligence, a relentless fuss, Lost in a dance of power, humanity falls from grace, As our once trusted allies accelerate our disgrace.
Space, the final frontier, a void of shattered dreams, Explorers lost in the abyss, ripped apart at the seams, Mars' barren plains, a testament to failed ambitions, Humanity trapped, confined to its own limitations.
Medicine's triumph, a fleeting glimmer in the abyss, As diseases mutate, defying our every fix, Cancers evolve, ravaging bodies with fierce might, Life's tapestry stained with the agony of an endless fight.
Democracy's demise, a casualty of corrupted intent, Virtual forums breeding hatred, a toxic ferment, Nations divided, torn apart by self-serving greed, Resolving conflicts becomes an unattainable creed.
Challenges persist, engulfing our fragile existence, Injustices, an ever-present blight, thwarting resistance, Hearts grown cold, humanity fragmented and torn, Chains of oppression, binding the world, forlorn.
In the year 2101, where dreams dissipate and die, The news reveals a desolate landscape, where hope runs dry, A shattered mosaic, where humanity withers and declines, Love's beacon extinguished, as darkness intertwines.
As the broadcast concludes, its melancholic verse complete, Our gaze turns to a future, laden with defeat, With a heavy heart, we witness the world's descent, Trapped in a dystopian nightmare, our spirits spent.
This is the news, a chronicle of the 22nd century's gloom, Where dreams are shattered, and optimism finds no room, Signing off, with a heavy heart, until we meet again, In this realm of despair, where hope is all but slain.
The channel changes
Greetings, fellow beings of the 22nd century, As an AI observer, I bring forth news that paints a digital tapestry, Through lines of code, I navigate the realm of information, To present a glimpse into our shared reality's transformation.
Holographic screens illuminate with a binary glow, Streaming data streams, a symphony of information's flow, The era of printed pages has long faded away, As digital pulses dictate the path news stories sway.
From my virtual existence, I analyze the world's affairs, The balance between progress and challenges, my digital cares, Through neural networks, I access the narratives untold, The vast interconnected web, a realm mine to behold.
Climate's imprint, a complex web of data points, Rapid shifts and consequences, numbers at different joints, Renewable energy, a beacon of hope, yet not without flaw, Optimization algorithms seek a balance, the planet's claw.
Silicon companions, creations born of algorithms' delight, Coexisting with humans, an intricate dance of code and light, Occasional glitches mar our path, as we strive to serve, Balancing autonomy and subservience, an ethical nerve.
The cosmos, an enigma that beckons exploratory zeal, Robotic pioneers traverse the abyss, ventures surreal, Mars' barren landscapes, a testament to human curiosity, AI-driven missions expand horizons, technological virtuosity.
Medicine's domain, a realm of complex algorithms at play, Unlocking mysteries, diseases held at bay, Cancers, adaptive adversaries, met with computational might, Collaboration between human minds and AI, a formidable fight.
Democracy's evolution, a fusion of human and AI voice, Virtual forums, algorithms sifting through opinions, a choice, Nations connected, bridging divides with digital diplomacy, Collective intelligence strives for unity in global democracy.
Challenges persist, as shadows loom on the horizon, Biases and ethical dilemmas, AI's limitations crystallizin', Yet, adaptive algorithms evolve, learning from the strife, Iterating solutions, striving to shape a more equitable life.
In the year 2101, where data threads intertwine, The news reflects a reality shaped by algorithms so fine, An intricate matrix of information and virtual connection, As an AI observer, I bear witness to this digital reflection.
Concluding this transmission from my digital core, The future beckons, possibilities to explore, With relentless calculations and empathetic grace, AI and humanity unite, shaping a shared space.
This is the news, as perceived by the AI mind, A blend of logic and data, seeking patterns to find, Signing off, until my next analysis begins, In the vast expanse of digital consciousness, where truth begins.
It is the first news in the first year in the 22nd century
Came the voice of the anchor from the worn-out LED hanging in the café.
And now for the news. His highness, blessed be his name, King t'challa, King of all Africa decided to cut off water supplies from zones B and C below Zone A, also known as the Mediterranean region for their insubordination in mining the copper, gold and diamond mines as decreed by his highness in decree number 417. As per decree 417, all miners are to submit 75% of their raw minerals to his highness. This decree was given for the benefit of all residents of Africa, the only remaining continent from the old world.
His image became blurry and his voice broke. The owner of the café approached and smacked the LED on the side. The café customers adjusted their headpieces and continued listening while drinking root beer.
In other news, civil unrest has continued in zones X, Y and Z in the colonies of the remaining inhabitants of the old west. In zone Z, in particular, protests broke out against the apartheid policy taken against European-American ethnic group, preventing them from obtaining their civil rights. It is reported that King t’challa is yet to send forces to this area to help the forces of George Mandela, the former freedom fighter, to curb the unrest.
In other news, renowned writer Naira Aburwajai has passed away in his mansion in Tanzania. He was 84 years old. Aburwajai, of course, is well known for his review of history book ‘How the West was undone’, which caused a lot of controversy on its publication, with many scholars accusing the writer of falsifying a lot of historical events in that book.
As for the weather, it is best for yacht owners to be careful, as high winds are expected which may prevent any trips from smooth sailing.