john the postpastist

I’ve got a lot of ideas, but I don’t care to name them all. I once saw Posthumanism wandering helplessly around a public bathroom, strung out on information, a syringe in one hand and the internet in the other. He looked like a hideous clown, caged onstage at a wedding or an inauguration—a monster amongst the members of his own species.

And so here is the moral, the dessert of every story:
Ideas are like children. If you want them to grow, let them out.