“I saw how the fine form of man was degraded and wasted; I beheld the corruption of death succeed to the blooming cheek of life; I saw how the worm inherited the wonders of the eye and brain.”
Shelley, Mary. Frankenstein.
The fleshy bag speaks electric code effortlessly and with such conviction that we interpret honesty in its eyes and infer heaviness in its heart. Life belies the binary. Smug drunk on oxygen and carbon—reassuringly synonymous with life. That we breathe is our sole conviction—that we breathe. Inhale self-evidence. Machines enslaved by circuits enslaved by electricity. Men enslaved by lungs enslaved by microorganisms. One’s disk-head sputters on a shining glass platter; another’s heart murmurs. The robotic arm crafts its own obsolescence—begotten of Sapes. The mother births her own successor—begotten of brutes, begotten of apes, begotten of ooze, begotten of stardust, begotten of flux.