Do you remember the first time that you died?
If you project your fears and longings inwardly onto the blank canvas of your own psyche, rather than the other
What is left of your concept of identity?
Can identity truly exist before the language we use to describe it?
How filled with static is the language?
Encoded within it are millenia's worth of arrays of psychosexual static
Norms passed down through symbols in the shape of words
Norms intergeneration or atittudes in the face of fear, death and the value of pleasure
Is the concept of posthumanism intellectual before it is visceral? Will we look at this idea with the same self awareness we project onto postmodernism?
Does the prefix 'post' suggest a mastery of what comes before? An integration of technology or a surrender to our fusing our identities to tools which have transcended into extensions of the psyche?
Is any form of intelligence really artificial?
Doesn't the word artificial suggest the creators are like parents who forever patronize their children as extensions of themselves rather than distinct entities, often well into adulthood?
A year to retrait us