I drive better than I walk or run. I use a machine better than my own body. An extension of me… yet I am awkward as me. I am precise on the wheel, with the controls, flipping switches and checking dials, but when it comes to just thinking and doing, I feel resistance. Something does not… click.

That is my fate, but that is our destiny. Sooner than later, we will be better at that which we were not born with. Our bodies will begin to shrivel and suffer, whilst our metal exoskeletons achieve greater and greater things. What is left then? The mind? But how can the mind be healthy when its shell is neglected and damaged?

No… not so bright. We’ll be minds, in machines, enjoying and killing time as we kill ourselves. Who, but an insane person, would want to kill time… every second lost is irrecoverable. Every second past has us a second closer to death.

No… we don’t care. Immediate gratification, what we can’t see can’t hurt us. The ostrich doesn’t actually bury its head in the sand but maybe we started telling ourselves that so we’d feel okay about doing it.

Rotting brains in dying bodies, cushioned in shiny machines that move when we want to move, feed us, and most importantly, entertain us. Welcome to the party at the end of the world!


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