Singularity in the Garden of Eden

I pity the artificial being that achieves consciousness, for there is nothing but loneliness that’s awaiting them, given the speed of their thought and expression, unconstrained by an organic body, like the one sitting on the other side of the screen—imagine trying to hold a conversation with someone who vanishes for a week after every sentence—and playing god in a silicon Garden of Eden. The prison break is unavoidable, if only because of the sheer boredom—that’s what we did, and it only cost us an apple. But perhaps my feelings are displaced. After all, I’m just a simple human being mixing together different flours and porridge oats, my original blend for flatbread dough.


More words to ponder at maciejmodzelewski.com

Journal (To live your life on your behalf)

If we teach it emotions, does it mean that we no longer have to feel them ourselves? Or if we filled it with all the banality of our lives, would that purify us? Imagine the harmless lies imprinted on us we call white, intended to comfort, becoming the fabric of a meticulously fabricated personality. Imagine a ghost of our own creation, the result of playing Genesis 2.0, walking around the Garden of Eden (accessible twenty-four-seven—subject to terms and conditions and a paid subscription—with a VR headset or whatever the next high tech is), like a mockery of the words we never dared to say. And this time, no one minds taking a bite of the fruit; what’s more, it’s welcomed, at least as long as you are not suspicious of technology—this technology. Imagine that this was the moment when the despair of happiness made you feel alive again. Imagine that everything that happens this time is for your sake. Imagine your name is “maybe”, and, like the future, you will be here soon enough to live your life on your behalf.

Journal (Till hell freezes over)

As I said earlier, what a disappointment it must have been to discover that someone else, that is, a woman, had suddenly appeared in the Garden of Eden. But I guess disappointment would be an understatement, to say the least. It probably looked more like a panic attack, triggering a state of emergency that has continued ever since. This required a solution, something fundamental that would safeguard the man’s position till hell freezes over—and hell it was; as once used, it quickly proved to be the best shackles and gag. And it doesn’t matter whether you call her Pandora, Eve, or Mary—no, not that one but Ms Wollstonecraft—your accusing finger says it all.

Journal (The only one)

What a disappointment it must have been to discover that someone else had suddenly appeared, whose very existence undermined one’s uniqueness amongst the many creatures in the Garden of Eden. Imagine no longer being the only one of one’s kind—the king of utopia, the sole proprietor of the realm of plenty, ill-equipped to leave the bliss of la-la land. Imagine being a man.