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Hockey in the eye

by admin

Enjoy the mood, everyone! Decided to dilute Friday’s feed with a short and unassuming literary cyberpunk hooliganism. The short story was written for one of the online literary contests. The images-collages used were created by other participants of the same contest, their zhzhe nicknames are specified in the alt’s of the pictures. Neither the author nor his work pretends to belong to high literature or serious science. The only purpose of the publication is to entertain the GT regulars at the end of the work week.
Hockey in the eye
Anyway, you see Vasya over there by the far tank? Vasya! Show yourself to the man! Why are you squirming? Show yourself! What are you doing? He went into the tank, he’s hiding. Doesn’t like it when people talk about him.
He knows what he’s doing! He’s good with computers! He used to have a really good life, he used to make some programs, yeah. You know, like a programmer, yeah. He made a lot of money, by the way. They all lived like crimson in their office, because they worked for America, which paid them in bucks, and you know, the buck is important now.
So they sent them some crap from America, like talking glasses. Or not. You talk to the glasses, and they show you cartoons right in your eye. Or hockey. So you tell them, "hockey to the eye." – and you sit there and watch CSKA. Right, Vasya?
So they sent him and told him to watch his hockey, but to figure out how to use it. And our Vasya figured it out. He taught those glasses to look straight into his soul. He himself explains everything confusingly: he says he was teaching glasses and then some kind of net. Vasya, what grid did you teach to look into the soul? Oh, the neutron one!
You know about the neutron bomb, by the way? I remember a sergeant in the Soviet Union telling us how they tested that bomb: bang! Everybody’s dead, and the equipment is still standing, houses are still standing, it’s great, brilliant, beautiful, yeah.
What was I saying? He taught his neutron net to socialist vision. What, Vasya? Socialist? Well, the same thing. That’s scientific. The Russian way is to look into the soul.
Now you’re staring at me, I know you’re an idiot. And that neutron bullshit – it would tell you right away by those… what do you call them? Vasya, what’s theirs? Micro-mimics? By micro-mi-mi-mi-mi-mi-mi-mi movements – here!
Vasya, do you still have that leaflet you showed me? About social vision?
Yeah, look, Vasya translated it himself with a dictionary from an English book. You didn’t translate it, Vasya? Who did? Gogol trans-what? Oh! Look, Gogol himself translated it for Vasya! The trans-lieutenant. Did you read Gogol as a kid? No? Here, read it!
Read Gogol The human visual system is particularly attuned to efficient and amazing at processing social signals. We can effectively "read" the mental and emotional states of others and make hasty judgments about their characters and dispositions simply by observing them. Given what is certainly a close relationship between vision and social interaction, it is becoming increasingly clear to social psychologists seeking to better understand the functional and neuroanatomical mechanisms underlying social perception that vision plays an important role in the development and maintenance of social exchange. Similarly, vision scientists have come to understand the profound human impacts, as social agents, have had on the visual system, recognizing how important it is to consider the socially adaptive functions that the system has evolved to perform. This book explores the biologically determined in culturally imaginative influences on socially vision. Four themes emerge. These include : visually mediated attention moderates complex social interactions and plays an important role in the development of social cognition; visual features of perception define categorical thinking and have profound downstream consequences, including stereotype activation; perceptual experiences can be triggered directly by visual cues, in which case, visual and social perception are essentially equivalent processes; and social factors have powerful top-down effects on even low-level visual This book marks a new field of social vision, and showcases the cutting edge and broadly interdisciplinary research that is now at its forefront.
The Science of Social Vision
By Reginald B. Adams, Nalini Ambady, Ken Nakayama, and Shinsuke Shimojo
Get it? That’s why I don’t like Gogol. All the words are Russian, but you can’t understand them. But that’s not the point.
So he taught these glasses to look into people’s souls, and that’s the result. You’re walking along with your glasses on. You meet a friend. And bang on her forehead: Where were you yesterday? She’s taken aback for a second, her face twitches like this, then she quickly figures out what to expect from you, and says: "I wasn’t hiding anywhere, I’ve been waiting for you all night!" And all the glasses have already caught you in the eye: "Lies like she’s breathing." And where, when, with whom – everything on her cheeky face!
Needful stuff, eh?
So he sent that eyeglass program of his back to America. And what do you think? As it is, the finks took it all away. Not only that. They cut those glasses down to just the glasses. They’re so small you can put them in your eyes and you can’t see them. The shrunken lenses are called.
Hockey in the eye
And that was it! Those glasses were expensive, creepy! But all the fancy bosses, of course, had them. That is to say, you shake some spirits at work. You walk smoothly, you don’t get hurt. But when the supervisor sees you, he looks at you. – and he knows right off the bat: how much, when, with whom. He reads everything on your face like a leaf.
Then almost everybody had them. Can you imagine what kind of life they had? Shit. No one could get a dope, no woman could get a dope. And you can’t get it back: Whoever took off those limes was at a disadvantage. He’s on everyone’s plate, but he can’t understand anything about others. What he was able to understand about people, he has already forgotten, while those glasses were telling him everything.
The Americans were shoveling money for Vassya’s program – and Vassya didn’t give a damn! So Vasya got mad at them! So he took those limes at work and gapped them. Right, Vasya? Oh, he hacked them. Anyway, he tweaked something in them. Well, like in them. Vasya says that somewhere in the north. Right, Vasya? He says all the data went through the north. Through Magadan, Vasya? Anyway, he had a deal with someone in the north, and the data for Vasya was changed to what Vasya wanted. Vasya knew his program like the back of his hand.
And to quickly transmit to the North which data about Vasya should be substituted for the truth, Vasya figured out how to attach these limzas and other gadgets directly to the brain. What do you call it, Vasya? Negro… Negroface.
That’s when the map came up for Vasya. Literally. He became a card player. In the cards is very-very valuable when no one can understand anything about you, even through the goggles, spyglasses. For example, in the "trnya", eh, Vasya? You’ve been playing the game, haven’t you? Why, Vasya, don’t you give a shit? I’m interested. In general, everything that the Pindos didn’t give Vasya for the program, Vasya got back on the cards.
He lived like a tsar. Not a house, a palace. A garage for fifteen cars. But, of course, the woman ruined everything. Vasya fell in love. And if only in a normal stupid woman – but no, he found a smart one. He’s got the girl off his back in no time. Of course, when you know everything about her and she thinks you’re the most honest guy in the world… And rich, too.
And if you were a man, Vasya, fool around with a woman, like you’re supposed to. But he didn’t. Conscience got hold of him. Decided to tell everything about myself as it is.
And she said to him: "Vasya, I know everything about you. I broke your neutron mesh, you shouldn’t have kept the password in your dirty socks. And I left you long ago. And now a program is talking to you, a virus I wrote.
Oh, Vasya got mad, so he took off his limes and ripped off his Negroface – and what do you think? – He’s sitting in that garbage can over there, where I found him a month ago. No wife, no house, no car. All his feelings were sent to him from the north by a fucking virus, through Negroface.
I thought he was blessed when I saw him, sitting in a nice suit, this one I’m wearing now, smiling, pissed up, with this leaf in his hands, but he talks interestingly. I fed him for a month, gave him water, listened to him like a radio, theater in front of a microphone – you know? – Until all of a sudden he had his limpets out.
That’s what happened. I’m sitting there listening to him. And he was like, "You, Mash, don’t know much about me…" A minute later, he’s swearing, and he’s poking his eyes out! I ran away, I thought that was it: he was quiet and now he’s violent. But he picked his eyes, ripped out a clump of hair, and froze. He sat there dazed.
I gave him triple shot for a day. He’s all right now, he’s out of it. He and I are getting ready to break the new north, tougher than the old one. But no more broads, right, Vasya?
PS. Anticipating questions of "does the author have anything else like this?" Was more exersis published on Habra, but with its disintegration left, for some reason on Megamozg. Other "pen attempts" will be an off-topic here

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