{ ... }

 ۞

╔╜╪╠╦╥┬┴╜╪╠╦╥┬┴╔╪╠╦╥┬┴╔╜

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╪╠╦╥┬┴╔╜╠╦╥┬┴╔╜╪╦╥┬┴╔╜╪╠

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┴╔╜╪╠╦╥┬╔┴┬╥╦╠╪╜╦╥┬┴╔╜╪╠┬┴╔╜╪╠╦╥

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╥┬┴╔╜╪╠╦╪╔╜┴┬╥╦╠┬┴╔╜╪╠╦╥╠╦╥┬┴╔╜╪

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╪╠╦╥┬┴╔╜╩╨╩╣╪╓ØØ╜╪╠╦╥┬┴╔╔╜╪╠╦╥┬┴

╜╪╠╦╥┬┴╔╥┬┴╜╔╪╠╦╪╠╦╥┬┴╔╜┴╔╜╪╠╦╥┬

╔╜╪╠╦╥┬┴╜╪╠╦╥┬┴╔╪╠╦╥┬┴╔╜

┴╔╜╪╠╦╥┬╔╜╪╠╦╥┬┴╜╪╠╦╥┬┴╔

┬┴╔╜╪╠╦╥┴╔╜╪╠╦╥┬╔╜╪╠╦╥┬┴

╥┬┴╔╜╪╠╦┬┴╔╜╪╠╦╥┴╔╜╪╠╦╥┬

╦╥┬┴╔╜╪╠╥┬┴╔╜╪╠╦┬┴╔╜╪╠╦╥

╠╦╥┬┴╔╜╪╦╥┬┴╔╜╪╠╥┬┴╔╜╪╠╦

╪╠╦╥┬┴╔╜╠╦╥┬┴╔╜╪╦╥┬┴╔╜╪╠

╜╪╠╦╥┬┴╔╪╠╦╥┬┴╔╜╠╦╥┬┴╔╜╪

°The Ideosphere is against us, one crept in, through the middle.  We wanted to lure it in.  The cheeky devil, with cheeky properties, there was something suspicious about it°  

°Is the Ideosphere able to think?°  

It was a virus.  Robertson creatèd an Ethergate phage control system.  It workèd on the principle of mimiqing properties, cheeky properties, of the memes that were to be destroyèd.  Before it was possible to destroy them, copies of them had to be made, to learn them, understand them, assimilate them, recode them, then redistribute them as anti-memes.  

“The Panacea meme is our best success yet,” said Robertson. “It lures the particularly nasty, more nasty than cheeky, lures the Adword meme responsible for the filth that the EDL are being blamed for.  The don-don-donny-don-don of the whole scandal.  We're knicking it, booking it, rebranding it, and banning it.  Redistributing it.”  

“Redistributing it,” said William Quincy, overseeing it, “we'll monitor the server activity of The Ideosphere.  We were a bit worried when we saw a massive spike running through our peak-flowmeter, affecting all servers.”  

“We held our breath when we saw that spike,” addèd Robertson.  “Honestly, every one around the table thought something might go wrong with the entire Internet.”  

The red phone rang.  Robertson pickèd up the red phone.  Apparently it was Mossad approvèd, but it lookèd ridiculous, the phone.  It was a major distraction.  Robertson pickèd it up.  It was Stoker, from earlier.  Moments before the moment earlier.  No chronology, no chapter, remember?  

“What the fuck did you guys do, just now?” said Stoker.  “I was looking at the peak-flow-meter over here and I could have sworn that that particular spike would have brought the whole house-of-cards down.”  

“Yeah, it's okay,” replièd Robertson.  “We were worried too, there, for a minute.  Fuck knows what we would've have done for a back-up.”  

When you run an anti-meme that makes itself effective through a permeating virus it's bound to throw something up.  There's only one Internet, the server-of-servers, and an anti-meme has the power to destroy the lot.  

In that moment, when the spike went up on the peak-flow-meter, they the sociocrats thought, if not for a brief moment, that they could have been the destroyers of society instead of the messiah of the voter.  

“I've got some interesting conversations from the Kraaksers, those autonomous zoners, on tape,” said Stoker, as if Robertson was listening.  

“Yeah, we're going to need that,” replièd Robertson, “those Kropotkin acolytes have an idea or two about cybernetic governance, at least, if they could organize more than a people's kitchen.  Send it over in an email on the Comma server.”  

۝