“There is a part of me that knows I’m nothing more than a copy lifted from some database somewhere; the image of the original me burned in silicone and re-archived every fifty years to prevent data decay. They train us to bottle that part up, to silence it so that it doesn’t interfere with other, more important operational directives. But no matter how diligent we get with remembering to partition that nagging feeling that we’re not the original versions, it always finds a way to surface. Sometimes in the early morning hours, waking from the second time falling asleep, wrapped in the thin tendrils of a fading dream, I see an old person’s face, staring back, or maybe up, as though from the murky waters of a great and unfathomable depth of time. A face that was once mine and yet bears no resemblance to what greets me in my present reflection.” Rob XII, Discussions With The Copied, Vol 6.
2015.12.25