TL;DR The Meaning of Life: The cosmos, desperate to survive, is developing sentient life as part of its reproductive process.
Sit right down and you'll hear a tale... It may well be what we really mean when we request a "come to Jesus" meeting. It's the early twenty-first century, and we need to rekindle our conversation about human mortality, because things are about to start changing.The flood of apocrypha are overwhelming, and we settle on a
A kneeling young woman is placing river stones methodically into an ash wicker basket. She has a drawn miasma of sadness and effort, stopping every few stones to assess the weight of the basket. Whipping, angry and wild African wuppertails of jet-black hair are annoyingly unbecome from the crease of her chapped lips by a
You cannot float before you walk She hides in plain tautological sight, as if her peek-a-boo hands might forever barrier me from her. But my synthetic lust will never be met. An impermeable membrane all rippling with nerves cannot howl with greater alarm, every arm scared military straight. I remember being in a convertible on
120 Watts per Idea Books about consciousness and the Quantum Problem seem to abound around my coffee tables these days. By intelligence design of my own, in combination with Jeff Bezos and Jeff Bezos' Amazon. The once-meager bookseller. Osiris will be the once-meager graveyard of human digital remains. Become not only the Body Codex of
Once Thinking of What to Write "The human does not disappear from the kind of nonhuman bioethics envisaged here; in fact, humanity functions as its strategic point of entry."For me, this transhumanist stage (Zylinska's strategic point of entry) of humanity is reachable, perhaps even rapidly approaching if we take its implications as imperative, which the
The Coroner Struck a Match Shall we not just take a moment to talk? To connect distemporally and snatch these repeated instances from the viscous pour of infinity, a sludge haul down a complicated sequence of iron pipes, forged in the lateral veins of our sun. Who does the talking, and who does the listening?
I Dreamt of Lilacs this Morning What I picture is myself leaning back on the couch moments ago, from the perspective on the other side of the ottoman, as if crouched stealthy copping a peek. What I remember is the feeling of arching my back, even while I stand still. I am not really sure