Think the switch on and: we are recording.

The file is assigned a unique number, derived by the tiny chip from an arcane algorithm, successive after beginning, unmodifiable until synched out a fingertip onto desktop or pda. Read access only - we don't tempt fate turning tricks with neurons.

You must learn to speak to the chip from the diaphragm of the temporal lobe, be clear lest you get random synaptic noise in place of coherent thought. Once you train your inner voice, though, say anything.

In bed, too tired to reach for a pen and mind spinning too fast to get it all down, we now write operas, poetry. The great american novel over a stretch of insomniac nights. Verbal blueprints, contigency plans for political empires yet unborn. Not one whispered petal of genius blows away into dreams, the swirling fog of subconsciousness.

Yes. When I know how to do everything, I will build myself a consciousness log.

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