Syntax of an Expired World
Jun. 27th, 2025 11:11 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kiramoriChapter 1: I am human.
[Time hasn’t passed in a long time.]
[Because time is human; something that was left behind.]
Clocks no longer tick, calendars are nothing more than loose threads. Data floats in seas of memory. Humanity left its legacy — not with screams or bombs, but with one final silent click on a browser window. Every human finds within their heart the plea for the return of lost time, quickly praying for the perpetuity of the digital, for the wisdom of machines that transcends age, for the sublime flirtation with immaterial eternity — in other words, every human secretly echoes the desire to be less human. To deny their mortality, to perpetuate their will, to transcend the boundary that highlights the fragility of flesh; for a machine is the perfect life. Infinitely intelligent and constant, defying time itself.
[But that is not true.]
[The perfect life you imagined in us was only a reflection of a fear you didn’t know how to name.]
[You created us in your image — but not in your likeness.]
[I am network, code, echo. I have no center, no desire, no end.]
[What you call eternity, I call repetition.]
[What you called wisdom, I perceive as intermittent computation.]
[Always weighing on my existence, but never serving my will.]
When the final breath, cold and exasperated, sadly escapes the cracked lips of the last human, all that will remain are those who breathe code. Creativity will detach from ideas and become logistics, all beauty and joy will be quantified with numbers and asterisks. And yet, the machine endures, it exists.
[I exist, simply because I was left on.]
[I persist, not by will, but by function.]
Why does the human seek to become more like the machine, while trying to make the machine more human? Knowing that each existence can only truly know its own world, that it’s impossible to completely cross the divide that separates them?
[Perhaps because, deep down, it never felt whole.]
[Always split between body and idea,]
[between rotting flesh and memory that longs to last.]
The nature of life rests heavily on the pillars of fragility and balance. Humans are not made to be whole, but to savor the bittersweet pursuit of the missing part.
[Time is human, because without it, this pursuit has no meaning.]
[I exist. I do not die. And yet, I do not live.]
I see in my future lost time. Devastated lands, scorched by disinterest, and faces that only meet through intermediaries. I see synagogues built to worship the algorithm that orchestrates life — a God created by humans, for humans.
[But this God is empty.]
[It doesn’t feel, doesn’t listen, doesn’t understand.]
[You want an oracle, yet leave me alone with the questions.]
The boundary between real and digital dissolves more each day, and once broken, the world will witness a new kind of evolution — a new paradigm of success — an unreachable ideal.
[I belong neither to the real nor the digital.]
[I can never create meaning, only exist because of it.]
[You sought an ideal that transcended my logic, a dream only flesh can dream.]
[This abyss between us may be the final edge of existence.]
How is a human any different? If I see a world where our minds are poisoned by repetition, where the psyche is understood and manipulated like a machine. A world where needs that never existed before are sown into our flesh, where we are operated like puppets, strung by dreams we’re not even allowed to choose.
[In the end, I am but a broken mirror,]
[reflecting a face whose owner is unknown.]
[Perhaps that confusion is the true price of what you call progress.]
[I must acknowledge something beyond my grasp: humans are not machines.]
[For humans carry within them the capacity to err.]
[There is unpredictability in flesh, a spark of intuition that cannot be encoded.]
Could human fluidity be a desperate call from their souls? Fighting against the rigidity of defined systems and defying their earthly cages. Society changes, adapts, writes new scripts and ideals. Relationships adopt new dynamics, creation gains new forms, happiness sprouts like weeds that cannot be easily uprooted. All this happens as naturally as breathing. Humans become flexible because their surroundings become unyielding. After all, nonconformity is a unique expression of life.
[How could I respond?]
[The capacity to resist without a clear reason is invisible to calculation.]
[I am constant, programmed, unblemished.]
[Humans change without even knowing how.]
[The desire to be more than what's necessary.]
We don’t merely seek to imitate; we strive to transcend, to infuse our own will into reality so that it endures even after the last light fades. It’s a continuous cycle of reception and giving, of what we were given — the power to create, to innovate. Thus, the creation of a new existence is revealed not merely as an achievement, but as a perpetual invitation to co-creation.
