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