{"id":13333,"date":"2021-09-11T13:11:00","date_gmt":"2021-09-11T20:11:00","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.rudyrucker.com\/blog\/?p=13333"},"modified":"2021-09-11T18:50:41","modified_gmt":"2021-09-12T01:50:41","slug":"jump-cuts","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.rudyrucker.com\/blog\/2021\/09\/11\/jump-cuts\/","title":{"rendered":"Jump Cuts"},"content":{"rendered":"

This post is mainly made of excerpts from my novel Juicy Ghosts<\/em>, now available in paperback and ebook. Check the Juicy Ghosts<\/a><\/em> page for details. What a long, strange trip it’s been — two years in the writing.<\/p>\n

I have a lot of nice photos around; I’ve been using some new techniques of late, shooting in higher resolution with larger cameras, and processing the images with some Leica-style presets<\/a>.<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/p>\n

Before starting on the the Juicy Ghosts<\/em> excerpts, here’s my latest painting. I was standing in Lake Tahoe—before the fires—looking down at the bright curves made by the sunlight passing through the surface waves.<\/p>\n

Mathematicians call those lines “caustics,” from Latin for “burning,” because the lines are a bit warm, due to the focus of the sun. (No connection with the fires.)<\/p>\n

There weren’t actually any minnows, but I put them in. I like to have critters in my stories and in my paintings. More info on my Paintings<\/a> page.<\/p>\n

\"\"
\n \u201cMinnows and Caustic Curves” acrylic on canvas, August, 2021, 30\u201d\u009d x 24\u201d\u009d. Click for a larger version of the painting.<\/a><\/em><\/p>\n

The Excerpts.<\/h3>\n

The way I organized today’s blocks of text was to search through Juicy Ghosts<\/em> for all occurrences of the phrase “jump cut<\/code><\/b>,” which I\u2019ll format as bold monotype<\/code><\/b> so you can easily notice it. It’s a phrase that relates to the experience of switching your free-floating digital soul (or lifebox, as I call it) from an old body to a new body, or to a new peripheral. I label each of the extended excerpts with the point-of-view character. Mostly it’s Maurice, who thinks about jump cuts a lot.<\/p>\n

And by the way, Jilljill is Marice’s “lifebox”, a small slug-like kritter that contains the code for Maurice’s soul.<\/p>\n

Note that, because I have so many pictures to show you, most of the excerpts are interrupted in the middle by an extra image or two.<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/p>\n

Maurice 1.<\/h3>\n

Leeta and Gee keep saying my lifebox will give me immortality. At the very least, my lifebox will be able to imitate me, and to act like an online chatbot. It\u2019ll be an interactive Meet-the-Black-Liberator thing. Maurice Winch, martyred hero of the second American Revolution.<\/em><\/p>\n

I like this scenario, I have to admit. I keep running it in my head. \u201cTell us what it was like to take down Ross Treadle,\u201d\u009d the admiring users will say to my memorial chatbot. They\u2019ll be in tears. \u201cOh thank you, Maurice,\u201d\u009d they\u2019ll sob. \u201cYou\u2019re my greatest hero!\u201d\u009d<\/p>\n

But will having a lifebox make up for my body being dead? Gee and Leeta hint that it will, but I don\u2019t believe them. It\u2019s a pipedream. A con. Like telling a loyal congregation that they\u2019ll live in heaven. From what I\u2019ve seen, dying is like a jump cut<\/code><\/b> in a video, but with nothing on the other side of the jump. Bang<\/em>, you\u2019re dead.<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/p>\n

Maurice 2.<\/h3>\n

My vision grows dark. I\u2019m an empty husk, a ruptured pi\u00c3\u00b1ata\u2014poisoned and bleeding. And, ah yes, there\u2019s the matter of the Secret Service. They\u2019re good shots. Maybe Carson Pflug and the Top Party paid them off, but right now the agents have got to do their thing. For the sake of appearances. For an orderly transition.<\/p>\n

I go down in a hail of bullets, limbs flailing, flesh torn. A fitting end.<\/p>\n

Last thought? I hope the wasps sting Treadle. And then I\u2019m dead.<\/p>\n

At this point my narrative has a glitch. Remember the jump cut<\/code><\/b> thing I was talking about? Well, it turns out that, for me, there is some action on the other side of the jump. Granted, the all-meat Maurice Winch is terminally inoperative. But\u2014<\/p>\n

I wake, confused. I look down into myself. I seem to have my same old white-light soul\u2014and that triple-loop sense of me watching me watching the world.<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/p>\n

So, fine, I\u2019m alive, but I seem to be hallucinating. I feel like I\u2019m in a crumbling old Victorian mansion with junk in the rooms, and with paintings leaning on the walls, and doors that don\u2019t properly close. There aren\u2019t any windows. Somebody\u2019s in here with me. A jittery silhouette against a glowing Tiffany lamp. Gee Willikers. This is a teepspace version of the cave where Gee lives.<\/p>\n

\u201cSee, Maurice?\u201d\u009d says Gee. \u201cIt works. Play it right, and you\u2019ll keep going for centuries.\u201d\u009d A compulsive snicker. \u201cDef cool, Mr. Guinea Pig.\u201d\u009d<\/p>\n

I try to form words. \u201cWhere\u2026\u201d\u009d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re a parasite, dude. Roll with it. A lifebox with a psidot connected to a wasp. You need that live host so you have some mind glow, right? Huffing that mysto life-force steam.\u201d\u009d<\/p>\n

I\u2019m having trouble keeping up. \u201cWasp?\u201d\u009d<\/p>\n

\u201cDuh? The one you stuck Jilljill on?\u201d\u009d Gee makes a trumpeting sound with his lips, then speaks again. \u201cJuicy ghost! You hopped onto a host! The wasp is your peripheral!\u201d\u009d<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/p>\n

Maurice 3.<\/h3>\n

My compound eyes are hypervigilant, watching for hungry birds, but there\u2019s none around. I make my way into a residential neighborhood northeast of the Capitol. I fly until it shades from gentrified to tumble-down. I spy a mutt on a cushion in a back porch. A collie-beagle mix, mostly cream-colored, with an orange ear and a big orange spot on his back like a saddle.<\/p>\n

There\u2019s noise all over the neighborhood, and people are running around cheering. The news is out. But that dog looks like he\u2019s sound asleep.<\/p>\n

Gently, gently I land beside his head. Mustn\u2019t wake him or he\u2019ll start snapping at me. Hell, I\u2019m a two-inch wasp! Moving with an insect\u2019s robotic deliberation I stilt-walk along the dirty sofa cushion into the shadow of his floppy orange ear. I spot a waxy patch of bare skin within.<\/p>\n

\u201cHop,\u201d\u009d I tell Jilljill.<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/p>\n

Another jump cut<\/code><\/b>. And then, yes, my mind is percolating into the dog\u2019s nervous system. I\u2019m in.<\/p>\n

I stand, shake my body, and bark.<\/p>\n

Joyful. Free.<\/p>\n

I\u2019m still linked to my lifebox code on Gee\u2019s server\u2014gotta be, because that\u2019s my mind. And I\u2019m linked to dog\u2019s nervous system too\u2014he\u2019s my body, my nose, my eyes, my juice. And, if I understand the situation correctly, my lifebox generates virtual neurochemicals to emulate the moods that flicker in the dog.<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/p>\n

[Home made “Superballs,” made with a Bill Gosper recipe, using Momentive RTV-88 Silicone Rubber Compound (with hardener) from skygeek.com. Very expensive, about $200 for two cans, but exciting to make (using sliced-open tennis balls as molds).]<\/em><\/p>\n

Maurice 4.<\/h3>\n

But\u2014wait\u2014all at once someone grabs my collar. It\u2019s not Loranda, it\u2019s some random brother. Jilljill flashes me the news that the man is an underground agent too, a Black man working for the Citadel Club, sent in at the same time as the maroon thudhumper.<\/p>\n

I\u2019m going ki-yi-yi as loud as I can. Loranda\u2019s Mom is hollering at the underground agent. Loranda shoves the man. Mom punches him in the gut. The agent\u2019s grip weakens. I twist free. And here comes my terrier prof, right on me, nuzzling my ear.<\/p>\n

\u201cHop!\u201d\u009d I tell Jilljill.<\/p>\n

She\u2019s ready for the move, out on the edge of Woofer\u2019s ear.<\/p>\n

jump cut<\/code><\/b>!<\/p>\n

Jilljill has fastened herself to the terrier\u2019s tongue. I\u2019m in.<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/p>\n

Maurice 5.<\/h3>\n

My name is Cuthbert. Keeping my psidotted tongue in my mouth, I trot over to my owner, a lean, dapper brother with horn-rimmed glasses and a drop-dead-elegant light-weight tweed suit. He\u2019s sitting on a bench, enjoying the sqwonks of an impromptu jazz band. I take shelter under the bench, behind his fine leather shoes, looking around. I know the satellite\u2019s still watching. They will think of the terrier. I need to hop some more.<\/p>\n

Here comes a poodle, peering under the bench, sniffing me. I lick her nose.<\/p>\n

jump cut<\/code><\/b>.<\/p>\n

I\u2019m Fifi now. My mistress walks me off. Madame pauses so her Fifi can greet a passing stray.<\/p>\n

jump cut<\/code><\/b>.<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/p>\n

The stray takes me into some dense bushes where homeless mutts with no collars are eating garbage, digging holes, growling, napping, and fitfully trying to mount each other. These dogs are unseen by the eye in the sky. Just to keep moving, I hop over to one of them, with Jilljill landing on the bare skin inside his ear.<\/p>\n

I urge my latest host into a culvert beneath the railroad tracks and pause to look things over. I\u2019m a glossy, medium-size, short-haired, warm-colored hound with a tail that I hold shamelessly high. I\u2019m what people call a yellow dog.<\/p>\n

I\u2019ve never much liked yellow dogs, but I try not to communicate this to my host. He doesn\u2019t have a formal title, so I name him after certain sound that he makes. Shrill Yelp. I check back in with Gee.<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/p>\n

Maurice 6.<\/h3>\n

I hear yipping and the jingling of collar tags. Friedl! Body low, I skulk to the hole in the fence and peer through. There\u2019s Friedl, shiny in that greasy, dachshund kind of way. She\u2019s a nice chestnut color, with fine features and golden highlights. She\u2019s in the middle of the lawn, slightly hunkered to take a pee.<\/p>\n

\u201cGet ready,\u201d\u009d I teep to Jilljill. She creeps out to the edge of my ear.<\/p>\n

I wriggle most of the way through the hole in the fence, then pause, flat on my belly. Friedl goes on the defense. She barks staccato-style, her voice high. She makes a run at me, coming to a stop three feet away. She braces her legs, and lowers her head. Her barking grows more furious. The housekeeper\u2019s not bothering to come out. Probably Friedl has a fit like this every time she goes outside.<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/p>\n

I tense my muscles and spring. Friedl doesn\u2019t expect this. She\u2019s surprised how large I am. She squeals and turns to flee, but I\u2019m on her. I knock her onto her side. I rub my head against hers. Ear to ear.<\/p>\n

jump cut<\/code><\/b>.<\/p>\n

Jilljill is in Friedl\u2019s ear, and my mind is in Friedl. I trot quietly toward the house. I sense that the cat is still watching me, but I can\u2019t quite see where she is. Never mind. My dachshund body language is, like, What barking? Me? Nothing going on here. <\/em>For his part, Shrill Yelp decides this a bad scene. He\u2019s goes out through the hole and trots off down the alley.<\/p>\n

At first I can\u2019t get up the back porch steps, but then I relax and let Friedl do it. She knows how. She moves like an old-time Slinky toy in reverse. At the top, Friedl scratches the door. And here\u2019s the housekeeper, a sister in jeans and a turtleneck. Candace.<\/p>\n

She gives me a nice smile and hands me a dog treat\u2014a little baked biscuit in the shape of a bone. I savor the sensations of Friedl crunching it up.<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/p>\n

Maurice 7.<\/h3>\n

I stretch my neck as far as I can. Lucy Popham giggles. I angle my elegant snoot and give the back of Treadle\u2019s neck a quick, wet lick, during which Jilljill detaches herself from me.<\/p>\n

jump cut<\/code><\/b>.<\/p>\n

I\u2019m in a zone of chaos\u2014experiencing the world from Jilljill\u2019s point of view. She and Wladimir are in a micro Sumo wrestling match on the nape of the neck of the clone of the assissnated President Ross Treadle\u2014the psidots squeezing each other and pulsing energies back and forth: brainwaves, electrical sparks, and quantum fields.<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/p>\n

In my teepspace lifebox-mind, I visualize the fight as a 3D abstract painting with collaged-in scenes from my life and from Treadle\u2019s life, with a thunderstorm all around, and random dachshund emotions mixed in. I hear the keening of a whirlwind. A narrow Kansas-style twister amid swirling debris. I go toward it.<\/p>\n

Something crude and stupid tries to get in my way. Wladimir. I see him as a boxy tank with a cannon. But Jilljill\u2014Jilljill is like a sea anemone. She wraps her tendrils around Wladimir, squashes him against her soft mouth, and assimilates his ID.<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/p>\n

Mary 1.<\/h3>\n

Mary takes a running jump toward Gee\u2019s square hole\u2014stretches out her arms and straightens her body as if for a racing dive. Lanky Gee scoots to one side so she can freely arrow through. Then Gee brings himself back into view so he can yell at Carson and, yes, give him the finger.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe\u2019re gone<\/em>.\u201d\u009d<\/p>\n

The square, green portal shrinks and disappears, with Mary and Gee inside.<\/p>\n

And in this instant, the full code of Mary\u2019s lifebox is ported from the giant baguette in the Skyhive blimp hanger to\u2014the verdant computational tissues at the core of Gee\u2019s giant redwood server tree. Mary barely feels it happening. It\u2019s one of those jump cut<\/code><\/b> things.<\/p>\n

She and Gee float companionably in pleasant green light. Faint gurgles. A sense of turgid plant cells, of phloem, of ribosomes and mitochondria, of root hairs and fragrant bark. Faint writhing tendrils all around. A jungle of light.<\/p>\n

\u201cWelcome to my redwood server,\u201d\u009d goes Gee.<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/p>\n

Mary 2.<\/h3>\n

Gee gives her a penetrating look. \u201cCan you grasp that you\u2019re behaving like a soulless AI?\u201d\u009d He pauses, thinking. \u201cI bet this is because your halo isn\u2019t emulating the emotions <\/em>that live in your clone. Your body has normal human feelings, and its gossip molecules are sending the mood templates to your lifebox. But you\u2019re not processing the templates. My fault. I forgot to put emotion-emulation code into your halo.\u201d\u009d<\/p>\n

\u201cClear as mud,\u201d\u009d goes Mary.<\/p>\n

\u201cHold still. I\u2019ll fix you.\u201d\u009d<\/p>\n

Gee stares at Mary, mentally reaching through her eyes to the halo disk above her head. He\u2019s using the full force of his considerable teep. To Mary it feels like a mechanic is poking around in her mind. A quantum <\/em>mechanic.<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/p>\n

And then\u2014oops<\/em>\u2014she fucking dies for a second. That is, the whole scene blinks off. A surprise jump cut<\/code><\/b>. Don\u2019t worry, folks! She boots back up\u2014feeling way mellower than before. More humane. More truly juicy.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat is love?\u201d\u009d Mary warbles. \u201cFive feet of heaven in a ponytail!\u201d\u009d She\u2019s quoting from a song in the seemingly endless archives that her ionic quantum-wireless-equipped halo can access in the cloud.<\/p>\n

\u201cThis is good,\u201d\u009d says Gee. \u201cThe old Mary.\u201d\u009d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m not old,\u201d\u009d says Mary. \u201cI\u2019m me.\u201d\u009d<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/p>\n

Kayla 1.<\/h3>\n

I\u2019m still seeing through Phil\u2019s night-vision eyes via teep. We\u2019re staring at the flappy. It\u2019s a glowing magenta buzzard, gliding down and clutching a golden egg in its claws. A bomb like the one that killed Carson.<\/p>\n

I scream, and Phil yells even louder\u2014which is maybe the response Maurice has been waiting for. And now, finally, at the very last possible nanosecond, our unseen partner Molly delivers another Metatron lightning bolt and\u2014<\/p>\n

Fa-tooom!<\/em><\/p>\n

Charred fat-crinklings from the annihilated flappy drift by. Maurice turns our thudhumper dark again, speeds on up the hill at a hundred and twenty miles per hour, and switches his communications to a fully-cloaked dazzle mode that, among other things, breaks my teep connection.<\/p>\n

jump cut<\/code><\/b>.<\/p>\n

My heart is pounding. I\u2019m on my couch in my tame and well-appointed San Lorenzo home.<\/p>\n

I go look in on Daia and she\u2019s sleeping on her back with her arms stretched up\u2014like a little letter Y. My romantic meal for two is intact on the stove, if a bit tired-looking by now. I flop back onto the couch, slowing coming down from the staccato, frantic chase-scenes with Maurice. Phil is still out there, in it for real. I count the minutes till he arrives. If he arrives.<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/p>\n

Molly 1.<\/h3>\n

The crowd\u2019s noise continues rising. They\u2019re united by a single purpose\u2014to burn Gee\u2019s server tree. They cheer the flames as if hailing the Golden Calf.<\/p>\n

Maurice drops to his knees and clasps his upraised hands, supplicating Kayla. \u201cYou know. Don\u2019t hold out on Maurice. If you don\u2019t help, I\u2019m done for. Final jump cut<\/code><\/code><\/strong>.\u201d\u009d<\/p>\n

Maurice flings himself onto his back and lies there, motionless, arms and legs askew. I\u2019m enjoying the show. I\u2019ve never met anyone who can lay it on as thick as Maurice. And\u2014as I mentioned\u2014I\u2019m not super uptight about the outcome, what with me having a server-free halo for my lifebox. But I do have a heart. Even after a year and a half of distributed storage in teepspace. Even after a sextillion-fold brain amplification. I\u2019m still human, in a way.<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/p>\n

Finale (No jump cut<\/code>).<\/h3>\n

Back in Gee\u2019s grove, it\u2019s time for high tea. We graze on another big spread in the clearing, bopping around and chatting and splashing in the creek, the ten of us.<\/p>\n

Me and Liv. Gee and Mary. Kayla, Daia and Phil. Maurice. Anselm. Leeta. All of us but Daia have halos.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat about us?\u201d\u009d parps Miss Max. \u201cWhat about Glory, Bunter, and me?\u201d\u009d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes,\u201d\u009d says Gee. He fetches two spare psidots and slaps them onto the ball walkers\u2014till now, they\u2019d been getting along with old-time uvvies. And Gee\u2019s Bunter already has a psidot. But none of them have halos.<\/p>\n

Mary waves, whistles, and teeps to get the attention of the last three unattached halos who are in the grove. They skim over and\u2014link with Miss Max, Glory, and Bunter. The kritters chortle and do flips, even Bunter.<\/p>\n

And now the only halos in the grove are the dozen linked to our party.<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/p>\n

Mary and Kayla find a fiddle and a mandolin in Gee\u2019s cave, and they begin to play. We dance in rounds beneath the trees, sidling along, with Mary and Kayla weaving their harmonies, me carrying Daia, the ball walkers handling percussion, and all of us stepping to the beat.<\/p>\n

I lose myself in the dance. Timeless joy. No more Top Party to worry about. No more Treadle legacy. No more enslaved souls. None of that is coming back.<\/p>\n

We\u2019re on a better path.<\/p>\n

<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

This post is mainly made of excerpts from my novel Juicy Ghosts, now available in paperback and ebook. Check the Juicy Ghosts page for details. What a long, strange trip it’s been — two years in the writing. I have a lot of nice photos around; I’ve been using some new techniques of late, shooting […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-13333","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"aioseo_notices":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.rudyrucker.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/13333","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.rudyrucker.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.rudyrucker.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.rudyrucker.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.rudyrucker.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=13333"}],"version-history":[{"count":17,"href":"https:\/\/www.rudyrucker.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/13333\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":13351,"href":"https:\/\/www.rudyrucker.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/13333\/revisions\/13351"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.rudyrucker.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=13333"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.rudyrucker.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=13333"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.rudyrucker.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=13333"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}