Latoeb

It was after my second shot that I leaned back to look up into the rafters of the barcade where I was commiserating with my boss. It was a converted metal shop. The noisy industrial machinery that accepted raw materials through the rolling garage doors, was replaced with noisy leisure machinery offering clacky tactile control schemes for quarters. Distracted by my phone, I begin responding to a text message. The haptic buzz fires with every letter I type, and I can't help but be jealous of the mechanical switches of the nearby arcade machines. As our technology becomes more functional, more of its function becomes abstracted into the software. Instead of feeling the resistance of a key give way as a corresponding arm accelerates a striker toward an inky ribbon, I get a cheap, tinny, artificial whirr. Gone are the days when the very operation of a thing gives any indication of how it works. Instead, we have an arcane slab of black glass, with only the most superficial imitations o...

"Emmett, do you want to say something?" she asked. The main hall was stifling to me in that moment. The barn which was converted into a two story classroom and office space, left a large portion open, and laminated. It had mirrors and parallel bars across one side for ballet, but was used for other large events when needed. Sitting in training like I was, with the huge vaulted space above me I decided to close the journal I had been furiously scribbling in, and speak. "...yyyeeaah?" Everyone chuckled a bit. I tried to compose my thoughts. "I think our programming is... well Meat-space-centric?" Looking around the room I had everyone's eyes, and they looked like the eyes of someone who has just heard a soon to be passerby start yammering under their breath. They were braced for some crazy. I continued. "People use the term meat-space to present a dichotomy between the 'real' and 'virtual' worlds. I mean there is no such thin...