A little while back, I half-overheard a conversation at a break of one of our writing group meetings. The topic was of future, death, afterlife; heavy subjects covered in a half-lighthearted way more as musings. From one, a vision of living on forever as a “talking head” perhaps, likely sitting atop a metal body of whirring drives and clicking bytes as its life progress towards eternity. Strange idea, strange man.
Really? Maybe not so much.
Am I not wired into my computer right here, in the present? The elements are there: Brain impulses to fingers that connect to keys that move bytes to sort input into output and voila! Ideas show up in readily recognizable readable form. What small step need be taken to eliminate the one weak link in the chain; the gradual physical decomposition of the body—not all parts as yet being replaceable. Take out that one step, go brain directly to computer, and my life, for one, would not be all that different. Skipping meals, sleep; just a prelude to a doing-away with completely. Time, time would just be constant rather than intermittent. As a matter of fact, without the burden of time on a daily basis, as well as perfecting lifespan to infinity, time would not matter at all. It would simply disappear.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology