All speech is — metaphorically and literally — code. By this, I mean it is a message you must decipher using clues and context, yes, but it is also the programming code that drives the game of humanity. When a friend explains the plot of a movie to you, your brain takes that code, unscrambles it, and executes it into a set of moving images playing in your mind. Your friend, thus, is your brain’s programmer, and the quality of the movie that plays in your head is dependent on your friend’s skill as a coder. This is why friends are so powerful and dangerous.
I enjoyed listening to Corey Booker’s 25-hour speech. While I listened, I fried several delicious sunny-side-up eggs and piloted my drone around my house to see if I could find any of my missing Evangelion miniatures. All the while, my mind compiled and executed a program of solidarity with an efficiency that put me in mind of a eurasian beaver compiling a dam in the Sozh.
Senator Booker’s skill as a coder is, in this humble game designer’s opinion, quite promising. He’s also an effective voice and performance capture actor. I could feel the organic nanites of my mind working tirelessly to take a more compassionate, politically active form in mechanical response to his human-readable instructions.