Skip to main content

I Blog, Therefore I am.

If a splice was one percent human, I don’t think I would care. I would still get someone to kill the one percent human spider-splice in my bathroom. This is, unless killing splices is illegal and we all have implants indicating our identity and vitals. If this were the case, medics would be on their way immediately to assist the splice and the data from my implant would indicate that at the time of the splice’s death, my heart-rate and blood-pressure were not so inconspicuously high. But I digress, the real confusion starts at the more human than inhuman level, which I suppose biologically would start at a splice being 50% human.

At what point do we consider something human? It has to be more than just biology, as we discussed in class. Is it a sense of “humanity”? Is it self-awareness? Is a being that desires “life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness” human? Similar measurements have been and are being attempted by the Law already. Is a biologically 100% human fetus considered human? We, as humans, apparently still have the right to terminate its right to “life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.” What percentage of you is Cherokee? Your percentage of race—race, being a concept us civilized humans invented—determines the privileges the government that desecrated your homeland will grant you back. I hope it’s a long time before we create splices like in Ribofunk, being that our government can barely handle the issues at hand.

This calls to mind Little Worker’s behavior and the fine line between freewill and her pre-programmed sense of duty. Does Little Worker have the equivalent of a human consciousness? If we were to say her train of thought is limited by the pre-programming done by her creator, couldn’t the same be said of us humans? Tis the age old question of whether or not humanity lives under the illusion of freewill, randomness, or by the grace or terror of an ultimate Creator.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Knowledge Versus Experience

“The only source of knowledge is experience.” –Albert Einstein I sit in class and hear the unsure tittering of my classmates in response to the esoteric allusions to John Cage’s 4’33”, “Bartleby the Scrivener”, and The Lady from Shanghai . There is considerably less waving of the hands, shouting “Pick me! Pick me! I know the answer Mr. Prichard!” We sit in silence, and every once in a while—after severe awkwardness—someone will posit a theory, a theory so ambiguous and well, theoretical, that it circumnavigates all scrutiny due to its pure unintelligibility. Anything goes when you sound smart. The more books you’ve read, the more names of artists you’ve memorized, the more you feign aficion for Tom Waits or Guilluame de Machaut, the better your professors will love you. Memorizing works and quotes and formulas invented by others is only one aspect of becoming a seasoned intellectual. Limitless and instantaneous access to information via the internet, radio, television, p...

Life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.

Life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. I sometimes think that happiness is a personal responsibility. But what happens, then, if you can’t figure out what makes you happy? They are fleeting moments cushioned between the mundane and obscene. If I had to describe happiness regarding the big picture, abdicating all of the material pleasures life can offer, it’s merely to be understood. For me, art, and relationships--romantic or not--tend to be the main geyser for such a feeling. When I’m understood, my existence is validated. When your existence is validated, it temporarily quells the sometimes dormant, sometimes active yearning to know why in the fuck we are here. I think about my existence so far… I am navigating the path of the American dream. Subscribing to this path, I feel, sometimes, is an addiction to the illusion of stability, when life really comes down to chance. Or does it? I feel sickened by how much of my knowledge is theoretical. How can I understand ...

"Where do you see yourself 5 years from now?"

It’s been too long since I’ve written. I definitely feel corroded synaptic connections. I have been getting reacquainted with myself lately—with the person I was before I had to build a wall to dart about behind, like a meerkat, shooting arrows of cynicism from the safety of my hate turret. I have come to realize the existence of a fortress in my heart—and like the natives who could not see the Spanish ships approaching shore, I have been in complete fear and utter disbelief of its presence. My mission is to see with eyes unclouded by hate and venture out into this wild, wild world. The only constant is change—therefore, the future is science fiction, right? Five years ago I wouldn’t have believed the present. Would you have? Take a minute to gnaw on that. The things that I have experienced over the last 5 years, both good and bad, would be too inconceivable. I would have told you, exhaustively, however, about my desperation for the tangible: I want to live somewhere s...