IKN from Goo Seneck by mark bingham

Phelps looks back over the years of deceit. He recalls the decades of communing with his fellow humans, sharing meals, delivering insights that he didn't believe, nudging the conversations towards subjects that might open doors that exposed the inner workings of the enemy- which enemy ?- find words that might loosen tongues, might give him a leg up. Even high on truth serum psychedelics like peyote and san Pedro, squatting on dirt floor shacks, disappearing into rain forests and deserts living with people untouched by the US policy, Phelps was able to maneuver and compartmentalize his words and actions. He breathes deeply and considers his previous deeds and feels that simply being human is winning the lottery of life. He laughs at being called an "acid fascist" by US ex-pat hippies.

And, after years of being clever personified, Phelps sees the duality and laughs as he comes to grips with knowing nothing. The perfect mind state beyond morality, beyond philosophy, while knowing the ancients, knowing the math, knowing the hidden Malthus behind the screen somewhere in his DNA, squiggling and smurfing through human potential in the dance with chlorophyll as choreographed by
the gods of Mt Olympus- his benefactors. He no longer knows why, no longer questions.
In New Orleans post-Hurricane Katrina, through the disaster of the New New Orleans, Phelps drinks in the neighborhood bars, keeping an eye out on scammers and bunco artists in town to help themselves in the disaster capitalism schemes. He hears this often, "there was nothing here before we got here."
He knows that when the rats come out and shriek at the river, a hurricane is imminent and it's time to move on.