Added Chimera v1

What makes a human distinctively so?

Even a child can sing you the answer. Diapers and crumbs, snips and snails, sugar and spice, sighs and leers. We know our fathers by their collars choke, and our mothers by their ribbons and laces.

Added Chimera v2

What makes a human distinctively so?

The ingredient is so protected—the trade secret so valuable—that Francis Fukuyama can, at most, call it “Factor X.” In his 2002 book, Our Posthuman Future, the political scientist reverse-engineers the human, seeking essence by elimination. Neither sentience nor reason, moral choice nor language, consciousness nor emotionality can account for our humanity. But combine them just so, and we attain our ineffable factor.

Added Chimera v3

What makes a human distinctively so?

Why, that we don’t need to rely on biology! If will, choice, and purpose are our distinguishing traits, as theologian and bioethicist Joseph Fletcher claims, then laboratory reproduction is far more human than the coital variety. Ever one to follow an argument to its futurological conclusion, Ray Kurzweil predicts that “traditional reproduction may begin to seem antiquated, if not downright irresponsible.”

By attempting to end our dependency on heterosexual reproduction, transhumanists have attracted some unexpected allies. The ghost of Shulamith Firestone, for instance, will likely not enjoy rubbing shoulders with the techno-patriarchal set, but there’s no denying her insistence, in The Dialectic of Sex, that a woman cannot be free with freeing herself from incubation. Randy Wicker seems less troubled by the affiliation, embracing cloning as a means of rendering “heterosexuality’s historic monopoly on reproduction obsolete.” The stalwart gay rights activist may be the best thing to happen to the cloning cause.

Added Chimera v4

What makes a human distinctively so?

There are more things on earth than were dreamt of in Greek mythology. The chimeras of lore—all lion, goat and snake—pale in comparison to creatures like Karen Keegan and Lydia Fairchild: previsions of Wicker’s dream that, man or woman, gay or straight, we will all gain the right to be our own twin.

Of course, Keegan and Fairchild didn’t have much say in the matter. The chance fusion of eggs gave these women forty-six chromosomes apiece, effectively making them multiple people. It’s conceivable that each could have lived and died in relative ignorance of this fact, if not for the legal strictures that bind us, each and every one, to a single DNA signature.

In the early 2000s, Fairchild’s application for public assistance required her children to take DNA tests, revealing a mismatch between their genetic makeup and her own. Fairchild’s assertion of her maternity meant little to the state, which suspected welfare fraud. Another test, given to a baby Fairchild had just birthed, produced the same results. At this point, there was no room for doubt: Fairchild was, in fact, both the genetic mother and aunt of her children.

The exceptionalism of this case, as Aaron T. Norton and Ozzie Zehner write, actually illuminates the norm: biogenetics has become the dominant model for determining and defining kinship. Personal testimony pales against genetic evidence, which creates “technological confessions for these mothers through a privileged objectification of their biological attributes.” Moreover, this biologically determined understanding of kinship beleaguers more than DNA oddities; as Taylor Flynn reports, transgender parents, who are genetically related to their children, have on occasion found their parental rights nullified for failing to match their biological sex.

Whatever can be judged by the cover of a book, its insides are always more truthful.

Added Chimera v5

What makes a human distinctively so?

If will, choice, and purpose are our distinguishing traits, then laboratory reproduction is far more human than the coital variety. But if laboratory reproduction increases the chance of chimerism roughly thirty-three fold, then what we call “human” in the future might be a chimera in drag. The future may belong to the chimeras.

Added Chimera v6

What makes a human distinctively so?

You keep asking the same question, and I’m running out of answers. Why the desperation? Are humans really so endangered that you need to justify our preservation?

Added Chimera v7

What makes a human distinctively so?

That’s a “human-racist” question, pure and simple. If political equality isn’t synonymous with physical equality, then why shouldn’t it encompass any “persons” possessing feelings and consciousness? Why can’t the posthuman, the uplifted animal, and the intelligent machine share full status as citizens? Already we find them in our midst, from the corporations acting as legal persons, to the cyborgs built of disabled humans and assistive technology. Already human skin cells have fused with rabbit ova: the animal poised to climb the chain, the human to transcend it. When will their rights be granted?

Added Chimera v8

What makes a human distinctively so?

Absolutely fucking nothing.

Modified Chimera v1

What makes a human distinctively so?

Even a child can sing you the answer. Diapers and crumbs, snips and snails, sugar and spice, sighs and leers and sighs. We know our fathers by their collars choke, and our mothers by their ribbons and laces.

Modified Chimera v2

What makes a human distinctively so?

The ingredient is so protected—the trade secret so valuable—that Francis Fukuyama can, at most, call it “Factor X.” In his 2002 book, Our Posthuman Future, Fukuyamathe political scientist reverse-engineers the human, seeking essence by elimination. Neither sentience nor reason, moral choice nor language, consciousness nor emotionality can account for our humanity. But combine them just so, and we attain our ineffable factor.

Modified Chimera v3

What makes a human distinctively so?

Why, that we don’t need to rely on biology! If will, choice, and purpose are our distinguishing traits, as theologian and bioethicist Joseph Fletcher claims, then the laboratory is as human as reproduction can get. laboratory reproduction is far more human than the coital variety. Ever one to follow an argument to its futurological conclusion, Ray Kurzweil predicts that “traditional reproduction may begin to seem antiquated, if not downright irresponsible.”

Whether he realizes it or not, Fletcher hasBy attempting to end our dependency on heterosexual reproduction, transhumanists have attracted some improbableunexpected allies. The ghost of Shulamith Firestone would , for instance, will likely decline to rubnot enjoy rubbing shoulders with himthe techno-patriarchal set, but there’s no denying her insistence, in The Dialectic of Sex, that a woman can ’not be free with out freeing herself from incubation. Randy Wicker, for his part, seems less troubled by the association, proclaiming thataffiliation, embracing cloning will makeas a means of rendering “heterosexuality’s historic monopoly on reproduction obsolete.” The stalwart gay rights activist may be the best thing to happen to the cloning cause.

Modified Chimera v4

What makes a human distinctively so?

There are more things on earth than were dreamt of in Greek mythology. The chimeras of lore—all lion, goat and snake— can’t comparepale in comparison to creatures like Karen Keegan and Lydia Fairchild: previsions of Wicker’s dream that, man or woman, gay or straight, we’llwe will all gain the right to be our own twin.

Not thatOf course, Keegan and Fairchild haddidn’t have much say in the matter. The chance fusion of eggs gave these women forty-six chromosomes apiece, effectively making them multiple people. It’s conceivable that theyeach could have lived and died in totalrelative~ ignorance of this fact, if not for the intervention of the law… ~~legal strictures that bind us, each and every one, to a single DNA signature.

In the early 2000s, Fairchild’s application for public assistance required her children to take DNA tests, revealing a mismatch between their genetic makeup and her own. Fairchild assertedFairchild’s assertion of her biological maternity, but given the results, meant little to the state, which suspected welfare fraud. A laterAnother test, given to a baby sheFairchild had just birthed, produced the same mismatch and left little results. At this point, there was no room for doubt: Fairchild was, in fact, both the genetic mother and the aunt of her children.

The oddnessexceptionalism of this case, as Aaron T. Norton and Ozzie Zehner write, actually illuminates the norm, as: biogenetics becomeshas become the dominant model for determining and defining kinship. Personal testimony has lost ground topales against genetic evidence, which creates “technological confessions […]for these mothers through a privileged objectification of their biological attributes.” Moreover, this biologically determined understanding of kinship beleaguers more than DNA oddities; as Taylor Flynn reports, transgender parents, who are genetically related to their children, have on occasion found their parental rights nullified for failing to match their biological sex.

Whatever can be judged by the cover of a book, its insides are always more truthful.

Modified Chimera v5

What makes a human distinctively so?

If will, choice, and purpose are our distinguishing traits, then the laboratory is as human as reproduction can getis far more human than the coital variety. But if laboratory reproduction increases the chance of chimerism roughly thirty-three fold, then what we call “human” may in the future might be a chimera in drag. The future belongsmay belong to the chimeras.

Deleted Chimera v6

What makes a human distinctively so?

You keep asking the same question, and I’m running out of answers. Why the desperation? Are humans really so endangered that you need to justify our preservation?

Deleted Chimera v7

What makes a human distinctively so?

That’s a “human-racist” question, pure and simple. If political equality isn’t synonymous with physical equality, then why shouldn’t it encompass any “persons” possessing feelings and consciousness? Why can’t the posthuman, the uplifted animal, and the intelligent machine share full status as citizens? Already we find them in our midst, from the corporations acting as legal persons, to the cyborgs built of disabled humans and assistive technology. Already human skin cells have fused with rabbit ova: the animal poised to climb the chain, the human to transcend it. When will their rights be granted?

Deleted Chimera v8

What makes a human distinctively so?

Absolutely fucking nothing.

Modified Chimera v2

What makes a human distinctively so?

The ingredient is so protected (—the trade secret so valuable) —that Francis Fukuyama can, at most, call it “Factor X.” In his 2002 book, Our Posthuman Future, Fukuyama dismembersreverse-engineers the human on the operating table, seeking our essence amidst the bones and viscera, the humors and the myths. Unsurprisingly, he finds that no single thing—neitherby elimination. Neither sentience nor reason, moral choice nor language, consciousness nor emotionality— can account for our humanity. But combine them just so, and we attain our ineffable factor.

Modified Chimera v3

What makes a human distinctively so?

If will, choice, and purpose are our distinguishing traits, as theologian and bioethicist Joseph Fletcher claims, then the laboratory conception is as human as reproduction can get.

Whether he realizes it or not, Fletcher has some unlikely bedfellows. ~improbable allies. The ghost of Shulamith Firestone famously arguedwould likely decline to rub shoulders with him, but there’s no denying her insistence, in The Dialectic of Sex, that a woman can’t be free without freeing herself from incubation. Randy Wicker, a stalwart gay rights activist, currently predictsfor his part, seems less troubled by the association, proclaiming that cloning will make “heterosexuality’s historic monopoly on reproduction obsolete.” Notwithstanding their affinities, Firestone and Wicker would likely decline rubbing shoulders with Fletcher’s conservative set, lest their politicsThe stalwart gay rights activist may be __employed for purely scientistic ends...the best thing to happen to the cause.~~

Modified Chimera v4

What makes a human distinctively so?

There are more things on earth than were dreamt of in Greek mythology. The chimeras of lore (—all lion, goat and snake) —can’t compare to a creaturecreatures like Karen Keegan and Lydia Fairchild: the previsionprevisions of Wicker’s dream that, man or woman, gay or straight, we’ll all gain the right to be come our own twin.

Not that Keegan and Fairchild had much say in the matter. AThe chance fusion of eggs gave this womanthese women forty-six chromosomes, or two DNA signatures apiece, effectively making the rm multiple people. It’s conceivable that Fairchildthey could have lived and died ignorantin total ignorance of this fact —that we could live and die ignorant of the chimeras in our midst—, if not for some perplexing legal circumstances.the intervention of the law…

In the early 2000s, Fairchild’s application for public assistance required her children to take DNA tests, revealing a mismatch between their genetic makeup and her own. Fairchild asserted her biological maternity, but given the results, the state suspected welfare fraud. A later test, given to a baby she had just birthed, produced the same mismatch and left little room for doubt: Fairchild was both the mother and the aunt of her children.

This bizarreThe oddness of this case , Aaron T. Norton and Ozzie Zehner write, actually illuminates the rule.norm, as biogenetics becomes the dominant model for determining and defining kinship. Personal testimony, Aaron T. Norton and Ozzie Zehner write, is losing has lost ground to genetic evidence, which creates “technological confessions” for people like Fairchild “ […] through a privileged objectification of their biological attributes.” Fairchild’s assertion of maternity, in other words, meant little against the DNA tests.

Yet the claim of objectivity gives lie to the biopolitical forces at play—to the way our bodies are constructed and contested before science and the law. Transgender parents bearing genetic relation to their children, for example, have sometimes found their parental rights nullified for failing to match their original sex. Genetics thus may be most objective when it aids and abets social norms. Sometimes you judge a book by its content, through usually, you just glance at its cover.

Modified Chimera v5

What makes a human distinctively so?

If will, choice, and purpose are our distinguishing traits, then the laboratory conception is as human as reproduction can get. But if laboratory reproduction increases the chance of chimerism roughly thirty-three fold, then what we call a “human” may already be a chimera in drag. The future belongs to chimeras.

Modified Chimera v2

What makes a human distinctively so?

The ingredient is so protected (the trade secret so valuable) that Francis Fukuyama can only, at most, call it “Factor X.” In his 2002 book, Our Posthuman Future, Fukuyama dismembers the human on the operating table, seeking our essence amidst the bones and viscera, the humors and the myths. UltimatelyUnsurprisingly, he finds that no single thing—neither sentience nor reason, moral choice nor language, consciousness nor emotionality—can account for humanity. But combine them just so, and we attain thatour ineffable factor.

Modified Chimera v3

What makes a human distinctively so?

If will, choice, and purpose are our distinguishing traits, as theologian and bioethicist Joseph Fletcher claims, then laboratory conception is as human as it getsreproduction can get.

Whether he realizes it or not, Fletcher has some unlikely bedfellows. Shulamith Firestone famously argued, in The Dialectic of Sex, that a woman can’t be free without freeing herself from incubation. Randy Wicker, a stalwart gay rights activist, currently expectspredicts that cloning towill make “heterosexuality’s historic monopoly on reproduction obsolete.” Notwithstanding their affinities, Firestone and Wicker would likely decline rubbing shoulders with Fletcher’s conservative set, lest their politics be employed for purely scientistic ends...

This is not to say that Firestone and Wicker would welcome the association; in fact, they may (correctly) suspect that their politics would become the handmaiden of scientism…

Modified Chimera v4

What makes a human distinctively so?

There are more things on earth than were dreamt of in Greek mythology. The fire-breathing, interspecies chimerachimeras of lore barely compares(all lion, goat and snake) can’t compare to a creature like Lydia Fairchild: the prevision of Wicker’s dream that, man or woman, gay or straight, we’ll all gain the right to become our own twin.

Not that Fairchild had much say in the matter. A chance fusion of eggs gave herthis woman forty-six chromosomes, or two DNA signatures, effectively making her multiple people. As this condition exhibited no outward signs, It’s conceivable that Fairchild mightcould have lived and died unawareignorant of this fact—that we could live and die ignorant of the fact that she, like many of us, was a chimera. But then, the law intervened. chimeras in our midst—if not for some perplexing legal circumstances.

In the early 2000s, Fairchild’s application for public assistance required her children to take DNA tests, revealing a mismatch between their genetic makeup and her own. Fairchild asserted her biological maternity, but given the results, the state suspected welfare fraud. A later test, given to a baby she had just birthed, produced the same mismatch and left little room for doubt: Fairchild had multiple DNA signatures. She was, in actuality,was both the mother and the aunt of her children.

This bizarre case actually illuminates a larger trend of personalthe rule. Personal testimony, Aaron T. Norton and Ozzie Zehner write, is losing ground to genetic evidence. According to Aaron T. Norton and Ozzie Zehner, such evidence, which creates “technological confessions” for people like Fairchild “through a privileged objectification of their biological attributes.” Fairchild’s assertion of maternity, in other words, meant little against the findings of the DNA tests.

Yet the claim of biological objectivity gives lie to the biopolitical forces at play—to howthe way our bodies are constructed and contested bybefore science and before the law. Transgender parents bearing genetic relation to their children, for example, occasionally findhave sometimes found their parental rights nullified for failing to match their original sex. Genetics thus may be most objective when it aids and abets social norms. Sometimes you judge a book by its content, through usually, you just glance at its cover.

Modified Chimera v5

What makes a human distinctively so?

If will, choice, and purpose are our distinguishing traits, then laboratory conception is as human as it gets.reproduction can get. But if laboratory conceptionreproduction increases the chances of chimerism roughly thirty-three fold, then what we call a “human” may already be a chimera in drag. The future belongs to chimeras.

Modified Chimera v2

What makes a human distinctively so?

The ingredient is so protected,~~ (the trade secret so valuable)~~, that Francis Fukuyama can only call it “Factor X.” In his 2002 book, Our Posthuman Future, Fukuyama dismembers the human on the figurative operating table, seeking our essence amidst the bones and viscera, the humors and the myths. Ultimately, he finds that no single thing—neither sentience, nor reason, nor moral choice, nor language, nor consciousness, nor emotionality—can account for humanity. But combine them just so, and we attain that ineffable factor.

Modified Chimera v3

What makes a human distinctively so?

If will, choice, and purpose are our distinguishing traits, as theologian Joseph Fletcher arguesclaims, then laboratory conception is as human as it gets.

Whether he realizes or not, Fletcher has some unlikely bedfellows. Shulamith Firestone, for one, famously wroteargued, in The Dialectic of Sex, that a woman can’t be free without freeing herself from incubation. Randy Wicker, a stalwart gay rights activist, currently expects cloning to make “heterosexuality’s historic monopoly on reproduction obsolete.” This is not to say that Firestone and Wicker would welcome the link;association; in fact, they mightmay (correctly) suspect —with good reason— that any such affiliation would turn their politics __intowould become the handmaiden of scientism…

Modified Chimera v4

What makes a human distinctively so?

There are more things on earth than were dreamt of in Greek mythology. The fire-breathing, interspecies chimera of lore barely compares to Lydia Fairchild: the heraldprevision of Wicker’s dream that, man or woman, gay or straight, we’ll somedayall gain the right to become our own twin.

Not that Fairchild had much say in the matter. A chance fusion of eggs gave her forty-six chromosomes, or two DNA signatures, effectively making her multiple people. As this condition exhibited no outward signs, Fairchild might have lived and died ~~unaware ~~of the fact that she’s what the medical community callsshe, like many of us, was a chimera. But then, the law intervened.

In the early 2000s, Fairchild’s application for public assistance required her children to take DNA tests, revealing a mismatch between their genetic makeup and her own. Fairchild asserted her biological maternity, thoughbut given the results, the state suspected welfare fraud. A subsequentlater test, given to a baby she had just birthed, produced the same mismatch and left little room for doubt: Fairchild had multiple DNA signatures. She was, in actuality, bothe mother and the aunt of her children.

This bizarre case illuminates a larger trend of personal testimony losing ground to genetic evidence. According to Aaron T. Norton and Ozzie Zehner, such evidence creates “technological confessions” for people like Fairchild “through a privileged objectification of their biological attributes.” Fairchild’s assertion of maternity, in other words, meantmeans little against the findings of the DNA tests, however varied their results.

Yet the claim of biological objectivity gives lie to the biopolitical forces at play—to how bodies are constructed and contested by science and before the law. Transgender parents with abearing genetic relation ship to their children, for example, occasionally find their parental rights nullified for failing to match their original sex. Genetics thus could notmay be called an objective force in jurisprudence. Rather, it’s deemed to bemost objective when aidingit aids and abettingabets social norms —when affirming traditionalist thinking about identity and parenthood.

Sometimes you judge a book by its content, through usually, you just glance at theits cover.

Modified Chimera v4

What makes a human distinctively so?

There are more things on earth than were dreamt of in Greek mythology. The fire-breathing, interspecies chimera of lore barely compares to Lydia Fairchild: the herald of Wicker’s dream that, man or woman, gay or straight, we’ll someday gain the right to become our own twin.

Not that Fairchild had much say in the matter. A chance fusion of eggs gave her forty-six chromosomes, or two DNA signatures, effectively making her multiple people. As this condition exhibited no outward signs, Fairchild might have lived unaware that she’s what the medical community calls a chimera. But then, the law intervened.

In the early 2000s, Fairchild’s application for public assistance required her children to take DNA tests, revealing a mismatch between their genetic makeup and her own. Fairchild asserted her biological maternity, though given the results, the state suspected welfare fraud. A subsequent test, given to a baby she had just birthed, produced the same mismatch and left little room for doubt: Fairchild had multiple DNA signatures. She was, in actuality, both mother and aunt of her children.

This bizarre case illuminates a larger trend of personal testimony losing ground to genetic evidence. According to Aaron T. Norton and Ozzie Zehner, such evidence creates “technological confessions” for people like Fairchild “through a privileged objectification of their biological attributes.” Fairchild’s assertion of maternity, in other words, means little against the findings of DNA tests, however varied their results.

Yet the claim of biological objectivity gives lie to the biopolitical forces at play—to how bodies are constructed and contested by science and before the law. Transgender parents with a genetic relationship to their children, for example, occasionally find their parental rights nullified for failing to match their original sex. Genetics thus could not be called an objective force in jurisprudence. Rather, it’s deemed to be objective when aiding and abetting social norms—when affirming traditionalist thinking about identity and parenthood.

Sometimes you judge a book by its content, through usually, you just glance at the cover.

Deleted Chimera v5

What makes a human distinctively so?

If will, choice, and purpose are our distinguishing traits, then laboratory conception is as human as it gets. But if laboratory conception increases the chances of chimerism roughly thirty-three-fold, then what we call a “human” may already be a chimera in drag. The future belongs to chimeras.

Added Chimera v5

This bizarre case illuminates a larger trend of personal testimony losing ground to genetic evidence. According to Aaron T. Norton and Ozzie Zehner, such evidence creates “technological confessions” for people like Fairchild “through a privileged objectification of their biological attributes.” Fairchild’s assertion of maternity, in other words, means little against the findings of DNA tests, however varied their results.

Yet the claim of biological objectivity gives lie to the biopolitical forces at play—to how bodies are constructed and contested by science and before the law. Transgender parents with a genetic relationship to their children, for example, occasionally find their parental rights nullified for failing to match their original sex. Genetics thus could not be called an objective force in jurisprudence. Rather, it’s deemed to be objective when aiding and abetting social norms—when affirming traditionalist thinking about identity and parenthood.

Sometimes you judge a book by its content, through usually, you just glance at the cover.

Added Chimera v6

What makes a human distinctively so?

If will, choice, and purpose are our distinguishing traits, then laboratory conception is as human as it gets. But if laboratory conception increases the chances of chimerism roughly thirty-three-fold, then what we call a “human” may already be a chimera in drag. The future belongs to chimeras.

Added Surtsey v1.jpg

Added Surtsey v2

In 1963, the state of nature leapt off the page and into the sea. More swan dive than swan song, as the cook of a nearby fishing trawler reported, the old bird proved to have some life in her yet. Centuries of philosophical blowhard had kept her aloft, and her descent was just as exaggerated, with a ripple, a splash, some thunderous applause, the darkening of the sky and the darkening of the soul, wars begun under mistaken pretenses, wars concluded on similar grounds—and a volcanic divan, emerging from the murky depths to provide a resting place for the diva.

That was just the first week. For the next four years, the divan grew to island size, an upside-down comma of unspoilt perfection, which nearby Iceland delegated a nature reserve. Hobbes, Locke and Rousseau must have rolled in their graves at the missed opportunity, for the scientists tasked to monitor the island did little more than watch which way the wind blew, limply waiting for a seed, a something to happen.

It turns out that the state of nature, in practice, isn’t much of a read. Gradually, grasses, plants and ferns made their way from the mainland, but the evolutionary magic of islands—the mammoth becoming the mouse, the dwarf the giant—has not enchanted the land of Surtsey yet. Human intruders, thankfully, have forced her hand: trace tomatoes, in a loitering bowel movement, eventually sprouted a plant; some naughty boys were caught planting potatoes. For the right price, a crooked fisherman will even ferry you, under the cover of moonlight, to indulge in a clandestine shit.

If this island is any indication, then contrary to what the philosophers claimed, society was not a coping mechanism for the savagery of the wild, but a novelty, a distraction from the state of total boredom.

ȾȿɃɐȴȳȱȷȣȠȟȓǷǶǰnjljǂǁƪƮƺƛƞƠƢƗƕ

Modified Surtsey v1

What had been a likelihood became, in 1963, a reality:In 1963, ~~the state of nature leapt off the page and into the sea. More swan dive than swan song, as the cook of a nearby fishing trawler reported, the old bird proved to have some life in her yet. Centuries of philosophical blowhard had kept her aloft, and her descent was just as exaggerated,: ~~with a twistripple, a splash, some thunderous applause, athe darkening of the sky and the darkening of the soul, wars wagedbegun under falsemistaken pretenses, wars concluded byon similar means. Finally, as the waters began to settle, a volcano emergedgrounds—and a volcanic divan, emerging from the murky depths, and there upon it—as if on the plushest divan—lay our to provide a resting place for the diva.

That was just the first week. For the next four years, the divan grew to island size, an upside-down comma of unspoilt perfection, which nearby Iceland nameddelegated a nature reserve. Hobbes, Locke and Rousseau must have rolled in their graves at the missed opportunity, for the scientists tasked to monitor the island did nothing. They just sat back, hands strapped, watchinglittle more than watch which way the wind blew, limply waiting for a seed, a something to happen.

ʍʋʉʆʁʂʄɸɵɳɺɥɬɮɠɟɛɚɖɓȺȾȿɃɐȴȳ

It turns out that the state of nature is, in practice, isn’t much of a better read. Gradually, grasses, plants, and ferns made their way from the mainland, but the evolutionary magic of islands—the mammoth becoming the mouse, the dwarf the giant—has not enchanted her divanthe land of Surtsey yet. Human intruders, howeverthankfully, have forced her hand: trace tomato seedstomatoes, in a loitering bowel movement, eventually sprouted a plant; some naughty boys were caught planting potatoes. For the right price, a crooked fisherman will even ferry you, under the cover of moonlight, to indulge in a clandestine shit.

If this island is any indication, then contrary to what certainthe philosophers claimed, society was not a coping mechanism for the savagery of the wild, but a novelty, a distraction from the state of total boredom.

Modified Surtsey v1

What had always been a likelihood became, in 1963, a reality: the state of nature leapt off the page and into the sea. More swan dive than swan song, as the cook of a nearby fishing trawler reported, the old bird proved to have some life in her yet. Centuries of philosophical blowhard had kept her aloft, and her descent was just as exaggerated: the a twist, a splash, some thunderous applause, a darkening sky darkened, the sea roiled, peacetimes became wartimes, and lovers fighters…the darkening soul, wars waged under false pretenses, wars concluded by similar means. Finally, as the waters began to settle, a volcano roseemerged from the depths, and there upon it—as if on the plushest divan—lay the sleepingour diva.

That was onlyjust the first week. For the next four years, the divan grew to island- size, an upside-down comma of unspoilt perfection that, which nearby Iceland named a nature reserve. Hobbes, Locke, and Rousseau must have rolled in their graves at the missed opportunity, for the scientists did significantly less than design a social experiment.nothing. They simplyjust sat on theirback, hands and watchedstrapped, watching way the wind blewow, waiting for a seed, a something, to happen.

ℏ₣ῳῦῐῘῂύἢἑỸṪṫḝḃӴӬӜҴҔҐѾѱѴ
ѮѨѤѢђфюбЯКБϟϞϠϚϗϱϑϒσςξζηκγα\
ΨΠΕΞΔΓΐΉͻʮʤʢʠʓʚʘʗʕʏʎ
ʍʋʉʆʁʂʄɸɵɳɺɥɬɮɠɟɛɚɖɓȺȾȿɃɐȴȳ
ȱȷȣȠȟȓǷǶǰnjNjLJljǂǁƪƮƺƛ

As itIt turns out, that the state of nature is a better read. Gradually, grasses, plants, and ferns made their way from the mainland, but the evolutionary magic of islands—the mammoth becoming the mouse, the dwarf the giant—has not enchanted herthe divan yet. Human intruders, however, have forced her hand: trace tomato seeds, in a scientist’sloitering bowel movement, latereventually sprouted a plant; some naughty boys were caught planting potatoes. For the right price, a crooked fisherman will even ferry you, under the cover of darknessmoonlight, to indulge in a clandestine shit.

If this island is any indication, then contrary to what certain philosophers claimed, society was not a coping mechanism for the savagery of the wild, but a novelty, a distraction from the state of total boredom.

Modified Surtsey v1

What had always been a likelihood became, in 1963, a reality: the state of nature leapt off the page and into the sea. More swan dive than swan song, as the cook of a nearby fishing trawler reported, the old bird proved to have some life in her yet. Centuries of philosophical blusterblowhard had kept her aloft, and her descent was just as exaggerated: the sky darkened, the sea roiled, peacetimes became wartimes, and lovers fighters…Finally, as the waters began to settle, a volcano rose from the depths, and there upon it—as if on the plushest divan—lay the sleeping diva.

Finally, the waters began to settle, and the diva reemerged from the depths. She lay, in full swoon, on a smoking chunk of volcano.

That was only the first week. For the next four years, the volcanodivan grew island-size, an upside-down comma of unspoilt perfection that nearby Iceland named a nature reserve. Hobbes, Locke, and Rousseau must have rolled in their graves at the missed opportunity, for the scientists did significantly less than design a social experiment. They simply sat on their hands and watched the wind blow, waiting for a seed, a something, to happen.

As it turns out, the state of nature is a better read. Gradually, grasses, plants, and ferns made their way from the mainland, but the evolutionary magic of islands—the mammoth becoming the mouse, the dwarf the giant—has not enchanted the divan yet. Human intruders, however, have forced her hand: trace tomato seeds, in a scientist’s bowel movement, later sprouted a plant; some naughty boys were caught planting potatoes. For the right price, a crooked fisherman will even ferry you, under the cover of darkness, to indulge in a clandestine shit.

If this island is any indication, then contrary to what certain philosophers claimed, society was not a coping mechanism for the savagery of the wild, but a novelty, a distraction from the state of total boredom.

Modified Surtsey v1

What had always been a likelihood became, in 1963, a reality: the state of nature leapt off the page and into the sea. More swan dive than swan song, as the cook of a nearby fishing trawler reported, the old bird proved to have some life in her yet. Centuries of philosophical bluster had kept her aloft, and her descent was just as exaggerated: the sky darkened, the sea roiled, peacetimes became wartimes, and lovers fighters…

Finally, as the waters began to settle, and the diva reemerged from the depths. She had fallen into alay, in full swoon, on a smoking chunk of volcano.

OverThat was only the first week. For the next four years, the volcano grew island-size, an upside-down comma of unspoilt perfection that nearby Iceland designated asnamed a nature reserve. Hobbes, Locke, and Rousseau must have rolled in their graves at the missed opportunity, for the Icelandic scientists did significantly less than design a social experiment. They simply sat on their hands and watched the wind blow, waiting for a seed, a something, to happen.

TheAs it turns out, the state of nature, it turns out, is a better read. Gradually, grasses, plants, and ferns made their way from the mainland, but the evolutionary magic of islands—the mammoth becoming the mouse, the dwarf the giant—has not enchanted Surtseythe divan yet. Humans are beginning to forceHuman intruders, however, have forced her hand: trace tomato seeds, in a scientist’s bowel movement, later sprouted a plant; some naughty boys were caught planting potatoes. For the right price, a crooked fisherman will even ferry you, under the cover of darkness, to indulge in a clandestine shit.

If this island is any indication, then contrary to what certain philosophers claimed, society was not a coping mechanism for the savagery of the wild, but a novelty, a distraction from the state of total boredom.

Modified Surtsey v2

What had always been a likelihood became, in 1963, a reality: the state of nature leapt off the page and into the sea. More swan dive than swan song, as the cook of a nearby fishing trawler reported, the old bird proved to have some life in her yet. Centuries of philosophical bluster had kept her aloft, and her descent was just as exaggerated: the sky darkened, the sea roiled, peacetimes became wartimes, and lovers fighters…

Finally, as the waters began to settle, the diva emerged from the depths. She had fallen into a swoon on a smoking chunk of volcano.

Over the next four years, the volcano grew island-size, an upside-down comma of unspoilt perfection that nearby Iceland designated as a nature reserve. Hobbes, Locke, and Rousseau must have rolled in their graves at the missed opportunity, for the Icelandic scientists did significantly less than design a social experiment. They sat on their hands and watched the wind blow, waiting for a seed, a something to happen.

The state of nature, it turns out, is a better read. Gradually, grasses, plants, and ferns made their way from the mainland, but the evolutionary magic of islands—the mammoth becoming the mouse, the dwarf the giant—has not enchanted Surtsey yet. Humans are beginning to force her hand: trace tomato seeds, in a scientist’s bowel movement, later sprouted a plant; some naughty boys were caught planting potatoes. For the right price, a crooked fisherman will ferry you, under the cover of darkness, to indulge in a clandestine shit.

If this island is any indication, then the truth of the matter contradicts the philosophers’ claims: Society iscontrary to what certain philosophers claimed, society was not a coping mechanism for the savagery of the wild, but a novelty, a distraction from the state of total boredom.

Modified Surtsey v2

What had always been a likelihood became, in 1963, a reality: the state of nature leapt off the page and into the sea. More swan dive than swan song, as the cook of a nearby fishing trawler reported, the old bird proved to have some life in her yet. Centuries of philosophical bluster had kept her aloft, and her descent was just as exaggerated: the sky darkened, the sea roiled, peacetimes became wartimes, and lovers fighters…

Finally, as the waters began to settle, the diva emerged from the depths. She had fallen into a swoon on a smoking chunk of volcano.

Over the next four years, the volcano grew island-size, an upside-down comma of unspoilt perfection that nearby Iceland designated as a nature reserve. Hobbes, Locke, and Rousseau must have rolled in their graves at the missed opportunity, for the Icelandic scientists did significantly less than design a social experiment. They sat on their hands and watched the wind blow, waiting for a seed, a something to happen.

The state of nature, it turns out, is a better read. Gradually, plants made their way from the mainland, but the evolutionary magic of islands—the mammoth becoming the mouse, the dwarf the giant—has not enchanted Surtsey yet. Humans are beginning to force her hand: trace tomato seeds, in a scientist’s bowel movement, later sprouted a plant; some naughty boys were caught planting potatoes. For the right price, a crooked fisherman will ferry you, under the cover of darkness, to indulge in a clandestine shit.

If this island is any indication, then the truth of the matter contradicts the philosophers’ claims: Society is not a coping mechanism for the savagery of the wild, but a novelty, a distraction from the state of total boredom.

Added Surtsey v3

The state of nature, it turns out, is a better read. Gradually, plants made their way from the mainland, but the evolutionary magic of islands—the mammoth becoming the mouse, the dwarf the giant—has not enchanted Surtsey yet. Humans are beginning to force her hand: trace tomato seeds, in a scientist’s bowel movement, later sprouted a plant; some naughty boys were caught planting potatoes. For the right price, a crooked fisherman will ferry you, under the cover of darkness, to indulge in a clandestine shit.

If this island is any indication, then the truth of the matter contradicts the philosophers’ claims: Society is not a coping mechanism for the savagery of the wild, but a novelty, a distraction from the state of total boredom.

Added Church v1

However space agencies justify their enormous budgets, there is one conspicuously unnecessary expense: training astronauts for free fall. Recruiters only need visit the fraternity rows of college campuses to find students already equipped to flip, twist, and defy the laws of gravity.

Zero-g is the postplanetary equivalent of a kegstand. Astronauts aren’t suspended upside-down, but the effect is much the same, with the body’s fluids congregating in the chest and the head, puffing faces and pressurizing skulls. Their legs aren’t held by fraternity brothers, but are similarly useless without gravity. Regular exercise is needed to maintain these biological handicaps, lest bone tissue and muscle mass degrade beyond belief.

Then there’s the vestibular disorder, the squashing of eyeballs, the radiation ravaging the body’s organs (the drinking analogy more or less holds up). Continual swelling of the optic nerves has caused several astronauts to become farsighted!

In early imaginings of this outer space party, the poison of choice wasn’t alcohol but drugs. NASA commissioned two researchers in 1960, for example, to design a human best adapted to space—who lived in “space qua natura.” Their model being, quite astoundingly, could breath without lungs and space walk without suits.

Essential to their vision were exogenous devices: the fuel cells that replaced the lungs, the intravenous feeding tubes, the pressure pumps that injected a pharmacological cocktail to keep radiation and high blood pressure at bay. When functioning effectively, this cybernetic system would be so integrated into the user as to operate “unconsciously.” To describe this system, the researchers invented the term “Cyborg.”

A principal limitation of the researchers’ model was psychology. Sensory invariance and action deprivation had been known to induce “psychotic-like states”; in such instances, when an astronaut is not mentally fit to monitor himself, the researchers advised that drug infusions be triggered remotely from earth, or by a fellow crew member. Drugs, it seems, provided the immediate solution to most problems.

This research dreamt of a human freed of his biological limitations, yet thereby bound to countless apparatuses. Thankfully, genetic engineering fixes many of these limitations on the assembly line. Speaking at a 2014 Genetic and Society Symposium, George Church—the man who gives the field a friendly, grandfatherly face—claimed to have identified gene variants relevant to extra-terrestrial environments: LPR5 G171V for extra-strong bones, MSTN for lean muscles, GHR for lowered cancer risk. Like the ultimate pre-hangover pill, Church’s recipe ensures that we’ll party from this solar system to wherever.

<< RVL_SDK – SC release build: 07:22:06 (0x4200_60422)
<< RVL_SDK – NAN release build: 02:01:36 (0x4200_60422)
<< RVL_SDK – DVD release build: 18:57:56 (0x4200_60422)
original arenaLo = 0x90000800 arenaHi = 0x933e0000
original arenaLo = 0x80550c18 arenaHi = 0x817e78e0
ARInit : Dummy ARAM enabled (RVL), area 0x900000 -> 0x91100000 (size 0x1100000)
<< RVL_SDK – VI release build: 17:27:57 (0x4200_60422)
<< RVL_SDK – GX release build: 18:30:54 (0x4200_60422)
<< RVL_SDK – PAD release build: 07:20:50 (0x4200_60422)
ɵɳɺɥɬɮ = 80f18820-80f19820 size=4 KB
ṫἑҔ = 80f19830-81099830 size=1536 KB
♇♅☼☧△␣ = 911000c0-92020ca0 size=15491 KB
ȾȿɃɐȴȳȱȷȣȠȟȓǷǶǰnjljǂǁƪƮƺƛƞƠƢƗƕ
<< RVL_SDK – CARD release build: 18:26:19 (0x4200_60422) >>
<< RVL_SDK – DSP release build: 22:25:51 (0x4200_60422) >>

Added Church v2.jpg

Modified Church v1

However space agencies justify their enormous budgets, there’sthere is one gratuitousconspicuously unnecessary expense: training astronauts for free fall. Just look at the fraternitiesRecruiters only need visit the fraternity rows of American colleges, where potential spacemen routinelycollege campuses to find students already equipped to flip, twist, and defy the laws of gravity.

Zero-g is the postplanetary equivalent of a kegstand. Astronauts aren’t suspended upside-down, but the effect is much the same, with the body’s fluids congregating in the chest and the head, puffing faces and pressurizing skulls. Their legs aren’t held by fraternity brothers, but are similarly useless in the absence ofwithout gravity, requiring periodic. Regular exercise is needed to keepmaintain these biological handicaps, lest bone tissue and muscle mass intact.degrade beyond belief.

Then there’s the vestibular disorder, the squashing of eyeballs, the radiation ravaging the body’s organs (the drinking analogy more or less holds up). Continual swelling of the optic nerves has caused several astronauts to become farsighted!

For spacemenIn early imaginings of the Sixtiesthis outer space party, the poison of choice wasn’t alcohol but drugs. NASA commissioned two researchers, at the start of the decade in 1960, for example, to design a human best adapted to space—who lived in “space qua natura.” Their model being, quite astoundingly, could breath without lungs and space walk without suits.

Essential to their vision were exogenous devices: the fuel cells that replaced the lungs, the intravenous feeding tubes, the pressure pumps injectingthat injected a pharmacological cocktails to keep radiation and high blood pressure at bay. When functioning effectively, this cybernetic system would be so integrated into the user as to operate “unconsciously.” To describe this system, the researchers invented the term “Cyborg.”

Of course, things rarely function effectively,A principal limitation of the researchers’ model was psychology. Sensory invariance and the human is presumed to be at fault. Spacemen deprived of sensory and motor variation, for example, haveaction deprivation had been known to experienceinduce “psychotic-like states.”; Iin such instances, when an astronaut is not mentally fit to monitor himself, the researchers advised that drug infusions be triggered remotely from earth, or by a fellow crew member. Almost every problem the researchers conceived could be solved with the aid of drugs. Drugs, it seems, provided the immediate solution to most problems.

The first cyborg wasThis research dreamt of a human freed fromof his biological limitations, yet doped andthereby bound by devices. In the decades sinceto countless apparatuses. Thankfully, genetic engineering has learned to fixfixes many of these limitations on the assembly line. Speaking at a 2014 Genetic and Society Symposium, George Church—the man who gives the field a friendly, grandfatherly face—claimed to have identified gene variants pertinentrelevant to surviving in extra-terrestrial environments: LPR5 G171V for extra-strong bones, MSTN for lean muscles, GHR for lowered cancer risk. Like the ultimate pre-hangover pill, Church’s recipe ensures that we’ll party from this solar system to wherever.

<< RVL_SDK – VI rsetup: 17:27:57 (0x4200_60422)
<< RVL_SDK – GX rsetup: 18:30:54 (0x4200_60422)
<< RVL_SDK – PAD rsetup build: 07:20:50 (0x4200_60422)

Modified Church v1

However space agencies justify the enormous budgets, there’s one gratuitous expense: training astronauts for free fall. Simply pay a visit to fraternity rowJust look at the fraternities of American colleges, where potential spacemen routinely defy the laws of gravity.

Zero-g is the postplanetary equivalent of a keg standkegstand. Astronauts don’t hangaren’t suspended upside-down, but the effect is much the same, aswith the body’s fluids congregateing in the chest and the head, puffing faces and pressurizing skulls. Their legs aren’t held by fraternity brothers, but are similarly useless in the absence of gravity, requiring periodic exercise to keep bone tissue and muscle mass intact. Then we havethere’s the vestibular disorder, the squashing of eyeballs, the radiation ravaging the body’s organs (the drinking analogy more or less holds up). Continual swelling of the optic nerves has caused several astronauts to become … farsighted!

For spacemen of the Sixties, the poison of choice wasn’t alcohol but drugs. NASA commissioned two researchers, at the start of the decade, to design a human best adapted to space—who lived in “space qua natura.” Their model being, astoundingly, could breath without lungs and space walk without suits.

Essential to theiris vision were exogenous devices: the fuel cells that replaced the lungs, the intravenous feeding tubes, the pressure pumps injecting pharmacological cocktails to keep radiation and high blood pressure at bay. When functioning effectively, thise cybernetic system would be so integrated into the user as to operate “unconsciously.” To describe this system, the researchers invented the term “Cyborg.”

Of course, things rarely function effectively, and the human is presumed to be at fault. Spacemen deprived of sensory and motor variation, for example, have been known to experience “psychotic-like states.” In such instances, the researchers advised that drug infusions be triggered remotely from earth, or by a fellow crew member. Almost every conceivable problem the researchers conceived could be solved with the aid of drugs.

To describe their system, the researchers invented the term “cyborg.”

The first cyborg was a human freed from biological limitations, yet doped and bound by devices. In the decades since, genetic engineering has been learning howlearned to fix many of these limitations on the assembly line. Speaking at a 2014 symposiumGenetic and Society Symposium, George Church—the man who gives the field a friendly, grandfatherly face—claimed to have identified gene variants pertinent to surviingval in extra-terrestrial environments: LPR5 G171V for extra-strong bones, MSTN for lean muscles, GHR for lowered cancer risk, and so on. Pop this . Like the ultimate pre-hangover pill, and you’llChurch’s recipe ensures that we’ll party from ourthis solar system to wherever.

Modified Church v1

However space agencies justify the enormous budgets, there’s one gratuitous expense: training astronauts for free fall. Simply pay a visit to fraternity row, where potential spacemen routinely defy the laws of gravity.

Zero-g is the postplanetary equivalent of a keg stand. Astronauts don’t hang upside-down, but the effect is much the same, as the body’s fluids congregate in the chest and head, puffing faces and pressurizing skulls. Then we have the vestibular disorder, the squashing of eyeballs, the G-force turning our dopaminergic valveradiation ravaging the body’s organs (the drinking analogy more or less holds up). Continual swelling of the optic nerve has caused several astronauts to become…farsighted!

For spacemen of the Sixties, the poison of choice wasn’t alcohol but drugs. NASA commissioned two researchers, at the start of the decade, to design a human best adapted to space—who lived in “space qua natura.” Their model being, astoundingly, could breath without lungs and space walk without suits.

To describe this new human, the researchers invented the term “cyborg.”

Essential to thiseir vision were exogenous devices: the fuel cells that replaced the lungs, the intravenous feeding tubes, the pressure pumps injecting pharmacological cocktails to keep radiation and high blood pressure at bay. When functioning effectively, the cybernetic system would be so integrated into the user as to operate “unconsciously.”

Of course, things rarely function effectively, and the human is presumed to be at fault. Spacemen deprived of sensory and motor variation, for example, have been known to experience “psychotic-like states.” In such instances, the researchers advised that drug infusions be triggered remotely from earth, or by a fellow crew member. Almost every conceivable problem could be solved with the aid of drugs.

In other instances, a human might be maladaptive. The exogenous devices, the subcutaneous tubes she perceives not for their novelty and ingenuity, but their invasiveness and control. The pharmacological pumps, despite their avowed function, are “palliation” for the depressions of the cyborg complex—the anxieties of being unwittingly invaded by the future.

In these (and most) instances, drugs were the obvious solution.

To describe their system, the researchers invented the term “cyborg.”

The first cyborg was a human freed from biological limitations, yet doped and bound by imperfect devices and doped to ease the pain of those imperfections.devices. In the decades since, genetic engineering has been learning how to fix such problemsthese limitations on the assembly line. Speaking at a 2014 symposium, George Church—the man who gives the field an avunculara friendly, grandfatherly face—identified gene variants pertinent to survival in extra-terrestrial environments: LPR5 G171V for extra-strong bones, MSTN for lean muscles, GHR for lowered cancer risk, and so on. There’s no need to wait for the hair of the dog, when you’re born toPop this ultimate pre-hangover pill, and you’ll party from our solar system to wherever.

Modified Church v1

However space agencies justify the enormous budgets, there’s one gratuitous expense: training astronauts for free fall. Simply pay a visit to fraternity row, where potential spacemen routinely defy the laws of gravity.

Zero-gG is the postplanetary equivalent of a keg stand. Astronauts don’t hang upside-down, but the effect is much the same, as the body’s fluids congregate in the chest and head, puffing faces and pressurizing skulls. Balance soon goes outThen we have the vestibular disorder, the squashing of whack,eyeballs, the G-force makes the dopamine flow.turning our dopaminergic valve (the drinking analogy more or less holds up). Continual swelling of the optic nerve causes somehas caused several astronauts to become…farsighted!

For spacemen of the Sixties, the poison of choice wasn’t alcohol but drugs. NASA commissioned two researchers, at the start of the decade, to design a human best adapted to space—who lived in “space qua natura.” Their model being, astoundingly, could breath without lungs and space walk without suits.

To describe this new human, the researchers invented the term “cyborg.”

Essential to their vision were exogenous devices: the fuel cells that replaced the lungs, the intravenous feeding tubes, the pressure pumps injecting pharmacological cocktails to keep radiation and high blood pressure at bay. When functioning effectively, thise cybernetic system would be so integrated into the user as to operate “unconsciously.”

Of course, things rarely function effectively, and the human is presumed to be the problemat fault. Spacemen deprived of sensory and motor variation, for example, have been known to experience “psychotic-like states.” In such instances, the researchers advised that drug infusions be triggered remotely from earth, or by a fellow crew member.

In other instances, a human could exhibit might be maladaptive behavior. The exogenous devices, the subcutaneous tubes might be misperceived as threateningshe perceives not for their novelty and controlling, not ingeniousingenuity, but their invasiveness and benigncontrol. The pharmacological pumps, despite their avowed function, appear asare “palliation” for the depressions of the cyborg complex—the anxieties of being unwittingly invaded by the future.

ForIn these (and most other) scenarios) instances, drugs were the prescribedobvious solution.

The first cyborg was a human freed from biological limitations, yet bound by imperfect devices and doped to ease the pain of those imperfections. In the decades since, genetic engineering has been learning how to fix such problems on the assembly line. Speaking at a 2014 symposium, George Church—the man who gives the field an avuncular face—identified gene variants pertinent to survival in extra-terrestrial environments: LPR5 G171V for extra-strong bones, MSTN for lean muscles, GHR for lowered cancer risk, and so on. Future generations won’t suffer come downs or crushing hangovers: they’ll be builtThere’s no need to wait for the hair of the dog, when you’re born to party from our solar system to wherever.

Modified Church v1

However convincingly space agencies justify the enormous budgets, there’s one gratuitous expense: training astronauts for free fall. Simply pay a visit to fraternity row, where potential spacemen routinely defy the laws of gravity.

Zero-G is the post-planetarypostplanetary equivalent of a keg stand. Astronauts don’t hang upside-down, but the effect is much the same:, as the body’s fluids congregate in the chest and head, puffing faces and pressurizing skulls. Balance soon goes out of whack;, G-force makes the adrenalinedopamine flow. Continual swelling of the optic nerve causes some to become…farsighted!

For spacemen of the sSixties, the poison of choice wasn’t alcohol, but drugs. In the early years of the decade, NASA commissioned two researchers , at the start of the decade, to design a human best adapted to space—who lived in “space qua natura.” Their model being, astoundingly, could breath without lungs and space walk without suits..

To describe this new human, the researchers invented the term “cyborg.”

Essential to their vision were exogenous devices: the fuel cells that replaced the lungs, the intravenous feeding tubes, the pressure pumps injecting pharmacological cocktails to keep radiation and high blood pressure at bay. When functioning effectively, this cybernetic system would be so integrated into the user as to operate “unconsciously.”

When the system didn’tOf course, things rarely function effectively, and the human element wasis presumed to be the problem. Spacemen deprived of sensory and motor variation, for example, have been known to experience “psychotic-like states.” In such instances, the researchers advised that drug infusions be triggered remotely from earth, or by a fellow crew member.

In other instances, a human could exhibit maladaptive behavior. The exogenous devices and, the subcutaneous tubes might be misperceived as threatening and controlling, not ingenious and benign. The pharmacological pumps, despite their avowed function, appear as “palliation” for the depressions of the cyborg complex—the anxieties of being haplesslyunwittingly invaded by the future.

For these (and most other) scenarios, drugs were the prescribed solution.

The first cyborg was thus a human freed from biological limitations, yet bound by imperfect devices and doped to ease the pain of those imperfections. In the decades since, genetic engineering has been learning to fix such problems on the assembly line. Speaking at a 2014 symposium, George Church—the man who gives the field an avuncular face—identified gene variants pertinent to survival in extra-terrestrial environments: LPR5 G171V for extra-strong bones, MSTN for lean muscles, GHR for lowered cancer risk, and so on. Future generations won’t suffer come-downs or crushing hangovers;: they’ll be built to party from our solar system to wherever.

Modified Church v1

However convincingly space agencies justify the enormous budgets, there’s one gratuitous expense: training astronauts for free fall. Simply pay a visit to fraternity row, where potential spacemen routinely defy the laws of gravity.

Zero-G is the post-planetary equivalent of a keg stand. Astronauts don’t hang upside-down, but the effect is much the same: the body’s fluids congregate in the chest and head, puffing faces and pressurizing skulls. Balance soon goes out of whack; G-force makes the adrenaline flow. Continual swelling of the optic nerve causes some to become…farsighted!

For spacemen of the sixties, the poison of choice wasn’t alcohol, but drugs. In the early years of the decade, NASA commissioned two researchers to design a human best adapted to space—who lived in “space qua natura.” Their model being, astoundingly, could breath without lungs and space walk without suits.

To describe this new human, the researchers invented the term “cyborg.”

Essential to their vision were exogenous devices: fuel cells that replaced the lungs, intravenous feeding tubes, pressure pumps injecting pharmacological cocktails to keep radiation and high blood pressure at bay. When functioning effectively, this cybernetic system would be so integrated into the user as to operate “unconsciously.”

When the system didn’t function effectively, the human element was presumed to be the problem. Spacemen deprived of sensory and motor variation, for example, have been known to experience “psychotic-like states.” In such instances, the researchers advised that drug infusions be triggered remotely from earth or by a fellow crew member.

In other instances, a human could exhibit maladaptive behavior. The exogenous devices and subcutaneous tubes might be misperceived as threatening and controlling, not ingenious and benign. The pharmacological pumps, despite their avowed function, appear as “palliation” for the depressions of the cyborg complex—the anxieties of being haplessly invaded by the future.

For these (and most other) scenarios, drugs were the prescribed solution.

The first cyborg was thus a human freed from biological limitations, yet bound by imperfect devices and doped to ease the pain of those imperfections. In the decades since, genetic engineering has been learning to fix such problems on the assembly line. Speaking at a 2014 symposium, George Church—the man who gives the field an avuncular face—identified gene variants pertinent to survival in extra-terrestrial environments: LPR5 G171V for extra-strong bones, MSTN for lean muscles, GHR for lowered cancer risk, and so on. Future generations won’t suffer come-downs or crushing hangovers; they’ll be built to party from our solar system to wherever.

Deleted Church v2.jpg

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Added Church v2

Essential to their vision were exogenous devices: fuel cells that replaced the lungs, intravenous feeding tubes, pressure pumps injecting pharmacological cocktails to keep radiation and high blood pressure at bay. When functioning effectively, this cybernetic system would be so integrated into the user as to operate “unconsciously.”

When the system didn’t function effectively, the human element was presumed to be the problem. Spacemen deprived of sensory and motor variation, for example, have been known to experience “psychotic-like states.” In such instances, the researchers advised that drug infusions be triggered remotely from earth or by a fellow crew member.

In other instances, a human could exhibit maladaptive behavior. The exogenous devices and subcutaneous tubes might be misperceived as threatening and controlling, not ingenious and benign. The pharmacological pumps, despite their avowed function, appear as “palliation” for the depressions of the cyborg complex—the anxieties of being haplessly invaded by the future.

For these (and most other) scenarios, drugs were the prescribed solution.

The first cyborg was thus a human freed from biological limitations, yet bound by imperfect devices and doped to ease the pain of those imperfections. In the decades since, genetic engineering has been learning to fix such problems on the assembly line. Speaking at a 2014 symposium, George Church—the man who gives the field an avuncular face—identified gene variants pertinent to survival in extra-terrestrial environments: LPR5 G171V for extra-strong bones, MSTN for lean muscles, GHR for lowered cancer risk, and so on. Future generations won’t suffer come-downs or crushing hangovers; they’ll be built to party from our solar system to wherever.

Added Church v3.jpg

Added Shara v1

A few years ago, a group of UFO believers approached Shara, an anthropologist working on dental morphology in hominins and early humans. They claimed to have found an ancient jaw of tantalizingly unknown provenance…

Shara agreed to talk with the television reporter covering the story, stating something to the effect of: “In my professional opinion, this jaw is a fake. There’s nothing on earth that looks like this.”

For whatever reason, her first sentence was cut from the broadcast segment. Shara has been a darling of the believer community ever since.

Modified Shara v1

A few years ago, a group of UFO believers approached Shara Bailey, an anthropologist working on dental morphology in hominins and early humans. They claimed to have found an ancient jaw of tantalizingly unknown provenance…

Shara agreed to talk with the television reporter covering the story, stating something to the effect of: “In my professional opinion, this jaw is a fake. There’s nothing on earth that looks like this.”

For whatever reason, her first sentence was cut from the broadcast segment. Shara has been a darling of the believer community ever since.

Modified Shara v1

A few years ago, a group of UFO believers approached Shara Bailey, an anthropologist working on dental morphology in hominins and early humans. They claimed to have found an ancient jaw of tantalizingly unknown provenance…

Shara agreed to talk with the television reporter covering the story, stating something to the effect of: “In my professional opinion, this jaw is a fake. There’s nothing on earth that looks like this.”

For whatever reason, herHer first sentence was cut from the broadcast segment. Shara has been a darling of the believer community ever since.

Added Telepath v1

Nothing under the sun, no matter how fantastical its imaginings, is immune to the pressures of evolution. Take science-fiction. The Force, the mind meld—the entire field of psionics, for that matter—have the look of yellowing comic books, the taste of stale popcorn. They would have long gone the way of the dodo, if not for the magic of capital. Hollywood has proved itself more powerful than natural selection, building menageries in the form of franchises, gilding cages for endangered ideas. The future has never been better preserved; the future has never looked older.

It wasn’t always this way. What historically loitered on the margins of myth and spiritualism, as second sight and sixth sense, finally approached the field of science, in 1934, with the publication of J.B. Rhine’s Extra-Sensory Perception. Possession of this ability rarely came without costs. Indeed, genre literature from the past eighty years vests the crippled, the deaf-blind, and the mutant with such psionic gifts. Our “expensive” brains require considerable energy, and additional fuel must come from somewhere…

In its ideal form, telepathy can bypass the strictures of possessive individualism, rewiring citizens as a “group mind.” One community in Robert A. Heinlein’s Methuselah’s Children, for example, not only fails to distinguish individuals, but by their powers combined, can manipulate the genetics and ecology of their world. Like the cyborg, psionics here functions as a progressive fiction: a search for communication outside of social norms. Brains may be bigger or smaller, may belong to different genders, races, and creeds, but they all have a place in the noosphere.

Alas, ideality is rarely forthcoming, as psionics, like many technologies of the 20th Century, found immediate application in warcraft. Spurred by reports of psychic training on the far side of the Iron Curtain, the CIA trained six people, beginning in 1972, to practice “remote viewing.” Early prototypes of drones, these psychic spies flew the extra-sensory airstreams, scanning for enemy bases, terrorists, and missing fighter-bombers. Their success rate was better than what carrier pigeons would achieve, but not sufficient to keep the program intact. It ended in 1995, conceding defeat to the ascendant, nigh-ubiquitous machine eye.

The Cold War was a renaissance of psionic sci-fi, before “espionage” became “counter-terrorism,” when secrets leant themselves less to torture than telepathic extraction. But the genre followed the trends. We no longer need to imagine a group mind, because we’ve found one in cyberspace, nor wait for telepathy, as the electronic equivalent will do. Some of us may find irony in the fact that disability—once seemingly essential to extra-sensory ability—now finds palliation from telepathy-like machines, wherein a thought can move an avatar arm, or reach brains in other countries as quick flashes of lights, to be decoded as digits, then letters. It’s at last time to revise that famous phrase: she thinks, therefore I am.

A moving arm, a flashing light may be as far as we get. Miguel Nicolelis, who has famously predicted the coming of “neurosocial networking,” still doubts that emotions, memories, and higher cognitive states will ever be subject to transmission. Could it be that these qualities, so integral to our notion of self, are resilient to technological capture? Is the soul digging trenches and fortifying ranks? Or do we follow the science, which presents a depressingly individuated worldview, with no two brains alike, no two concepts sharing precisely the same neuronal region? Achieving a group mind would require a feat of Borgesian proportions: seven billion, four hundred million dictionaries must be written, with the means to translate between them. Before the printing press, we enslaved ourselves with transcription, and soon, transcription may enslave the machines.

Added Telepath v2.jpg

Added Telepath v3.jpg

Added Telepath v4.jpg

Added Telepath v5.jpg

Added Telepath v6.jpg

Added Telepath v7.jpg

Modified Telepath v1

Nothing under the sun, no matter how unbelievable or fantasticfantastical its imaginings, is immune to the pressures of evolution. Take science-fiction. The Force, the mind meld—the entire field of psionics, for that matter—have the look of yellowing comic books, the taste of stale popcorn. They wouldshould have long gone the way of the dodo, if not for the magic of capital. Hollywood has proved itself more powerful than natural selection, building menageries in the form of franchises, gilding cages for endangered ideas. The future has never been better preserved; the future has never looked older.

It wasn’t always this way. What historically loitered on the margins of myth and spiritualism, as second sight and sixth sense, finally approached the field of science, in 1934, with the publication of J.B. Rhine’s Extra-Sensory Perception. ThisPossession of this ability rarely camecomes without a cost:costs. Indeed, genre literature from the past eighty years vests the crippled, the deaf-blind, and the mutant are common recipients in genre literaturewith such psionic gifts. Our “expensive” brains require considerable energy, and additional fuel must come from somewhere…

In its ideal form, psionicstelepathy can bypass the strictures of possessive individualism, rewiring citizens intoas a “group mind..” One community in Robert A. Heinlein’s Methuselah’s Children, for example, not only fails to distinguish individuals, but by their powers combined, can manipulate the genetics and ecology of their world. Like Haraway’sthe cyborg, the group mind ispsionics here functions as a vehicle to break withprogressive fiction: a search for communication outside of social norms. Brains may be bigger or smaller, may belong to different genders, races, and creeds, but they all have a place in the noosphere.

Alas, ideality is rarely forthcoming, andas psionics, like many technologies of the 20th Century, psionics found immediate application in warcraft. Spurred by reports of psychic training on the far side of the Iron Curtain, the CIA funded two initiatives, from the early 1970strained six people, beginning in 1972, to practice “remote viewing.” Early prototypes of drones, these psychic spies flew the extra-sensory airstreams, scanning for enemy bases, terrorists, and missing fighter-bombers. Their success rate was better than what a pigeoncarrier pigeons would have achievedachieve, but not sufficient to keep the program intact. It ended in 1995, conceding defeat to the ascendant, nigh-ubiquitous machine eye.

The Cold War was a renaissance of psionic sci-fi, before “espionage” became “counter-terrorism,” when secrets leant themselves less to torture than telepathic extraction. But the genre followed the trends. We no longer need to imagine a group mind, because we’ve found one in cyberspace, nor wait for telepathy, as the electronic equivalent will do. Some of us may find irony in the fact that disability—once a seeming prerequisite for ESPseemingly essential to extra-sensory ability—now finds support inpalliation from telepathy-like machines, wherein a thought can move an avatar arm, or reach brains in other countries as quick flashes of lights, to be decoded as digits, then letters. It’s at last time to revise that famous phrase: she thinks, therefore I am.

A moving arm, a flashing light may be as far as we get. Miguel Nicolelis, who has famously predicted the coming of “neurosocial networking,” still doubts that emotions, memories, and higher cognitive states will ever be subject to transmission. Could it be that these qualities, so integral to our notion of self, are resilient to technological capture? Is the soul digging trenches and fortifying ranks?

If insteadOr do we follow the science, we’re led towhich presents a depressingly individuated worldview, with no two brains alike, no thoughttwo concepts sharing precisely the exactsame neuronal region.? Achieving a group mind would thus require a feat of Borgesian proportions: seven billion, four hundred million dictionaries must be written, with the means to translate between them. Before the printing press, we enslaved ourselves towith transcription, and soon, transcription may enslave the machines.

Modified Telepath v1

Nothing under the sun, no matter how unbelievable or fantastic, is immune to the pressures of evolution. Take science-fiction. The Force, the mind meld—the entire field of psionics, for that matter—have the look of yellowing comic books, the taste of stale popcorn. They should have gone the way of the dodo, if not for the magic of capital. Hollywood has proved itself more powerful than natural selection, building menageries in the form of franchises, gilding cages for endangered ideas. The future has never been better preserved; the future has never looked older.

It wasn’t always this way. What historically loitered on the margins of myth and spiritualism, as second sight and sixth sense, finally approached the field of science, by the 1930s, with experiments in “extra-sensory perception.” Subjects of exceptional ability were tasked, in these cases, to guess cards from a custom-made deck, or “receive” the mental image of a drawing from a distance, then recreate it by hand. Their success rates were never remarkable, though high enough above the mean chance expectation to justify continued research.in 1934, with the publication of J.B. Rhine’s Extra-Sensory Perception. This ability rarely comes without a cost: the crippled, the deaf-blind, and the mutant are common recipients in genre literature. Our “expensive” brains require considerable energy, and additional fuel must come from somewhere…

For all of its scholarly aspirations, ESP found more support from the science-fiction community, where protagonists could break from the laboratory and deploy their psionic powers to greater effect. Still, these abilities came with a cost: the crippled, the deaf-blind, and the mutant were common recipients in genre literature. Our “expensive” brains already monopolize the body’s energy resources, so adding fuel will be at something’s expense…

In ideal form, psionics can bypass the strictures of possessive individualism, rewiring citizens into a group mind. One community in Robert A. Heinlein’s Methuselah’s Children, for example, not only fails to distinguish individuals, but by their powers combined, can manipulate the genetics and ecology of the world. TheLike Haraway’s cyborg, the group mind is thus a vehicle to break with social norms. Brains may be bigger or smaller, may belong to different genders, races, and creeds, but they all have a place in the noosphere.

Alas, ideality is rarely forthcoming, and like many technologies of the 20th Century, psionics found immediate application in warcraft. Spurred by reports of psychic training on the far side of the Iron Curtain, the CIA funded two initiatives, from the early 1970s, to practice “remote viewing.” Early prototypes of drones, these psychic spies flew the extra-sensory airstreams, scanning for enemy bases, terrorists, and missing fighter-bombers. Their success rate was better than what a pigeon photographer would have achieved, but not sufficient to keep the program intact. It ended in 1995, conceding defeat to the ascendant, nigh-ubiquitous machine eye.

The Cold War was a renaissance of psionic sci-fi, before “espionage” became “counter-terrorism,” when secrets leant themselves less to torture than telepathic extraction. But the genre changed withfollowed the timestrends. We no longer need to imagine a group mind, because we’ve found one in cyberspace, nor wait for telepathy, as telepathy-like machinesthe electronic equivalent will do. Some of us may find irony in the fact that disability—once a seeming prerequisite for ESP—now finds support in thesetelepathy-like machines, wherein a thought can move an avatar arm, or reach brains in other countries as quick flashes of lights, to be decoded as digits, then letters. It’s time to revise that famous phrase: she thinks, therefore I am.

A moving arm, a flashing light may be as far as we get. Miguel Nicolelis, who has famously predicted the coming of “neurosocial networking,” doubts that emotions, memories, and higher cognitive states will ever be subject to transmission. Could it be that these qualities, so integral to our notion of self, are resilient to capture? Is the soul digging trenches and fortifying ranks?

AsIf instead we follow the science has it, we’re dealing lessled to a depressingly individuated worldview, with the soul than with the problem of individuation, for no two brains are exactly alike, and thus no thought can sharesharing the sameexact neuronal positionregion. Achieving a group mind would thus require a feat of Borgesian proportions: seven billion, four hundred million dictionaries must be written with the means to translate between them. Before the printing press, we enslaved ourselves to transcription, and soon, transcription may enslave the machines.

Modified Telepath v1

Nothing under the sun, no matter how unbelievable or fantastic, is immune to the pressures of evolution. Take science-fiction. The Force, the mind meld—the entire field of psionics, for that matter—have the look of yellowing comic books, the taste of stale popcorn. They should have gone the way of the dodo, if not for the magic of capital. Hollywood has proved to beitself more powerful than natural selection, building menageries in the form of franchises, gilding cages for endangered ideas. The future has never been better preserved; the future has never looked older.

It wasn’t always this way. What historically loitered on the margins of myth and spiritualism, as second sight and sixth sense, finally approached the field of science, by the 1930s, with experiments in “extra-sensory perception.” Subjects of exceptional ability were tasked, in these cases, to guess cards from a custom-made deck, or “receive” drawings atthe mental image of a drawing from a distance, then recreate themit by hand. Their success rates were never remarkable, though high enough above the mean chance expectation to justify continued research.

In spiteFor all of its scholarly aspirationsambitions, ESP drewfound more interestsupport from the science-fiction writers, whosecommunity, where protagonists could break from the laboratory and deploy their psionic powers far beyond the lab.to greater effect. Still, these abilities came atwith a cost;: the crippled, the deaf-blind, and the mutant were frequentcommon recipients. in genre literature. Our “expensive” brains already monopolize the body’s energy reserves, and additionalresources, so adding fuel must come from somewhere…will be at something’s expense…

Telepathy plays several roles in the sci-fi imaginary: most politically, as the binding force ofIn ideal form, psionics can bypass the strictures of possessive individualism, rewiring citizens into a group mind. One community in Robert A. Heinlein’s Methuselah’s Children, for example, makes no distinction between its members, who collectivelynot only fails to distinguish individuals, but by their powers combined, can manipulate the genetics and ecology of theirthe world. The group mind, in this scenario, bypasses the strictures of possessive individualism and breaks is thus a vehicle to break with social norms. Brains may be bigger or smaller —, may belong to different genders, races, and creeds —, but they all have a place in the noosphere.

Alas, such ideals areideality is rarely forthcoming, and like many technologies of the 20th Century, psionics found immediate application in warcraft. Spurred by reports of psychic training on the far side of the Iron Curtain, the CIA funded two initiatives, from the early 1970s, to practice “remote viewing.” Early prototypes of drones, these psychic spies flew the extra-sensory airstreams, scanning for enemy bases, terrorists, and missing fighter-bombers. Their success rate was better than what a pigeon photographer would have achieved, but not sufficient to keep the program intact. It ended in 1995, conceding defeat to the ascendant, nigh-ubiquitous machine eye.

The Cold War was a renaissance of psionic sci-fi, before “espionage” became “counter-terrorism,” when secrets leant themselves less to torture than telepathic extraction. But the genre changed with the times. We no longer need to imagine a group mind, because we’ve found one in cyberspace, nor wait for telepathy, as telepathy-like machines will do. Some of us may find irony in the fact that disability—once a seeming prerequisite for ESP—now getsfinds support fromin these machines, wherein a thought can move an avatar arm, or reach brains in other countries as quick flashes of lights, to be decoded as digits, then letters. Perhaps it’s It’s time to revise that famous phrase: Sshe thinks, therefore I am.

A moving arm, a flashing light may be as far as we get. Miguel Nicolelis, who famously predicted the coming of “neurosocial networking,” doubts that emotions, memories, and higher cognitive states will ever be capable ofsubject to transmission. Could it be that these qualities, so integral to our notion of self, are resilient to telepathic capture? Is the soul digging trenches and fortifying ranks?

Or is thisAs the science has it, we’re dealing less a matter ofwith the soul than ofwith the scienceproblem of individuation, which holds thatfor no two brains are exactly alike, and thus no thought can share the same neuronal position? If so, then achieving. Achieving a group mind would thus require a feat of Borgesian proportions: seven billion, four hundred million dictionaries tomust be written with the means of translatingto translate between them. Before the printing press, we enslaved ourselves to transcription, and soon, transcription may enslave the machines.

Deleted Telepath v1

Nothing under the sun, no matter how unbelievable or fantastic, is immune to the pressures of evolution. Take science-fiction. The Force, the mind meld—the entire field of psionics, for that matter—have the look of yellowing comic books, the taste of stale popcorn. They should have gone the way of the dodo, if not for the magic of capital. Hollywood has proved to be more powerful than natural selection, building menageries in the form of franchises, gilding cages for endangered ideas. The future has never been better preserved; the future has never looked older.

It wasn’t always this way. What historically loitered on the margins of myth and spiritualism, as second sight and sixth sense, approached the field of science, by the 1930s, with experiments in “extra-sensory perception.” Subjects of exceptional ability were tasked, in these cases, to guess cards from a custom-made deck, or “receive” drawings at a distance, then recreate them by hand.

In spite of its scholarly ambitions, ESP drew more interest from science-fiction writers, whose protagonists could deploy their psionic powers far beyond the lab. Still, these abilities came at a cost; the crippled, the deaf-blind, and the mutant were frequent recipients. Our “expensive” brains already monopolize the body’s energy reserves, and additional fuel must come from somewhere…

Telepathy plays several roles in the sci-fi imaginary: most politically, as the binding force of a group mind. One community in Robert A. Heinlein’s Methuselah’s Children, for example, makes no distinction between its members, who collectively manipulate the genetics and ecology of their world. The group mind, in this scenario, bypasses the strictures of possessive individualism and breaks with social norms. Brains may be bigger or smaller—may belong to different genders, races, and creeds—but they all have a place in the noosphere.

Alas, such ideals are rarely forthcoming, and like many technologies of the 20th Century, psionics found immediate application in warcraft. Spurred by reports of psychic training on the far side of the Iron Curtain, the CIA funded two initiatives, from the early 1970s, to practice “remote viewing.” Early prototypes of drones, these psychic spies flew the extra-sensory airstreams, scanning for enemy bases, terrorists, and missing fighter-bombers. Their success rate was better than what a pigeon photographer would have achieved, but not sufficient to keep the program intact. It ended in 1995, conceding defeat to the ascendant, nigh-ubiquitous machine eye.

The Cold War was a renaissance of psionic sci-fi, before “espionage” became “counter-terrorism,” when secrets leant themselves less to torture than telepathic extraction. But the genre changed with the times. We no longer need to imagine a group mind, because we’ve found one in cyberspace, nor wait for telepathy, as telepathy-like machines will do. Some of us may find irony in the fact that disability—once a seeming prerequisite for ESP—now gets support from these machines, wherein a thought can move an avatar arm, or reach brains in other countries as quick flashes of lights, to be decoded as digits, then letters. Perhaps it’s time to revise that famous phrase: She thinks, therefore I am.

A moving arm, a flashing light may be as far as we get. Miguel Nicolelis, who famously predicted the coming of “neurosocial networking,” doubts that emotions, memories, and higher cognitive states will ever be capable of transmission. Could it be that these qualities, so integral to our notion of self, are resilient to telepathic capture? Is the soul digging trenches and fortifying ranks?

Or is this less a matter of the soul than of the science of individuation, which holds that no two brains are exactly alike, and thus no thought can share the same neuronal position? If so, then achieving a group mind would require a feat of Borgesian proportions: seven billion, four hundred million dictionaries to be written with the means of translating between them. Before the printing press, we enslaved ourselves to transcription, and soon, transcription may enslave the machines.

Deleted Telepath v2.jpg

Added Telepath v1.jpg

Added Telepath v2

Nothing under the sun, no matter how unbelievable or fantastic, is immune to the pressures of evolution. Take science-fiction. The Force, the mind meld—the entire field of psionics, for that matter—have the look of yellowing comic books, the taste of stale popcorn. They should have gone the way of the dodo, if not for the magic of capital. Hollywood has proved to be more powerful than natural selection, building menageries in the form of franchises, gilding cages for endangered ideas. The future has never been better preserved; the future has never looked older.

Deleted Telepath v5.jpg

Added Telepath v5

It wasn’t always this way. What historically loitered on the margins of myth and spiritualism, as second sight and sixth sense, approached the field of science, by the 1930s, with experiments in “extra-sensory perception.” Subjects of exceptional ability were tasked, in these cases, to guess cards from a custom-made deck, or “receive” drawings at a distance, then recreate them by hand.

In spite of its scholarly ambitions, ESP drew more interest from science-fiction writers, whose protagonists could deploy their psionic powers far beyond the lab. Still, these abilities came at a cost; the crippled, the deaf-blind, and the mutant were frequent recipients. Our “expensive” brains already monopolize the body’s energy reserves, and additional fuel must come from somewhere…

Deleted Telepath v7.jpg

Added Telepath v7

Telepathy plays several roles in the sci-fi imaginary: most politically, as the binding force of a group mind. One community in Robert A. Heinlein’s Methuselah’s Children, for example, makes no distinction between its members, who collectively manipulate the genetics and ecology of their world. The group mind, in this scenario, bypasses the strictures of possessive individualism and breaks with social norms. Brains may be bigger or smaller—may belong to different genders, races, and creeds—but they all have a place in the noosphere.

Added Telepath v8.jpg

Added Telepath v9

Alas, such ideals are rarely forthcoming, and like many technologies of the 20th Century, psionics found immediate application in warcraft. Spurred by reports of psychic training on the far side of the Iron Curtain, the CIA funded two initiatives, from the early 1970s, to practice “remote viewing.” Early prototypes of drones, these psychic spies flew the extra-sensory airstreams, scanning for enemy bases, terrorists, and missing fighter-bombers. Their success rate was better than what a pigeon photographer would have achieved, but not sufficient to keep the program intact. It ended in 1995, conceding defeat to the ascendant, nigh-ubiquitous machine eye.

The Cold War was a renaissance of psionic sci-fi, before “espionage” became “counter-terrorism,” when secrets leant themselves less to torture than telepathic extraction. But the genre changed with the times. We no longer need to imagine a group mind, because we’ve found one in cyberspace, nor wait for telepathy, as telepathy-like machines will do. Some of us may find irony in the fact that disability—once a seeming prerequisite for ESP—now gets support from these machines, wherein a thought can move an avatar arm, or reach brains in other countries as quick flashes of lights, to be decoded as digits, then letters. Perhaps it’s time to revise that famous phrase: She thinks, therefore I am.

Added Telepath v10.jpg

Added Telepath v11

A moving arm, a flashing light may be as far as we get. Miguel Nicolelis, who famously predicted the coming of “neurosocial networking,” doubts that emotions, memories, and higher cognitive states will ever be capable of transmission. Could it be that these qualities, so integral to our notion of self, are resilient to telepathic capture? Is the soul digging trenches and fortifying ranks?

Or is this less a matter of the soul than of the science of individuation, which holds that no two brains are exactly alike, and thus no thought can share the same neuronal position? If so, then achieving a group mind would require a feat of Borgesian proportions: seven billion, four hundred million dictionaries to be written with the means of translating between them. Before the printing press, we enslaved ourselves to transcription, and soon, transcription may enslave the machines.

Added Telepath v12.jpg

Modified Telepath v2

Nothing under the sun, no matter how unbelievable or fantastic, is immune to the pressures of evolution. Take science-fiction. The Force, the mind meld—the entire field of psionics, for that matter—have the look of yellowing comic books, the taste of stale popcorn. They shouldwould have gone the way of the dodo, if not for the magic of capital. Hollywood has proved to be more powerful than natural selection, building menageries in the form of franchises, gilding cages for endangered ideas. The future has never been better preserved; the future has never looked older.

Modified Telepath v5

It wasn’t always this way. What had historically loitered aroundon the margins of myth and spiritualism, as second sight and sixth sense, only approached the field of science in, by the 1930s. Laboratories began to run, with experiments in “extra-sensory perception,” tasking subjects.” Subjects of exceptional ability were tasked, in these cases, to guess cards from a custom-made deck, or “receive” drawings at a distance, then recreate them by hand.

In spite of its scholarly ambitions, ESP drew still more interest from science-fiction writers, whose protagonists could deploy their psionic powers far beyond the lab. Still, these abilities came at a cost; the crippled, the deaf-blind, and the mutant were frequent recipients. Our “expensive” brains already monopolize the body’s energy reserves, and additional fuel must come from somewhere…

Modified Telepath v7

PsionicsTelepathy plays several roles in the sci-fi imaginary—: most politically, as the binding force of a group mind. One community in Robert A. Heinlein’s Methuselah’s Children, for example, makes no distinction between its members, who collectively manipulate the genetics and ecology of their world. The group mind, in this scenario, bypasses the strictures of possessive individualism and breaks with social norms. Brains may be bigger or smaller—may belong to different genders, races, and creeds—but they all have a place in the noosphere.

Modified Telepath v9

Alas, such ideals are rarely forthcoming, and like many technologies of the twentieth century20th Century, psionics found immediate application in warcraft. Spurred by reports of psychic training on the far side of the Iron Curtain, the CIA funded two initiatives, beginning infrom the early 1970s, to practice “remote viewing.” Early prototypes of drones, these psychic spies flew the extra-sensory airstreams, scanning for enemy bases, terrorists, and missing fighter-bombers. Their success rate was better than what a pigeon photographer would have achieved, but not sufficient to keep the program intact. It ended in 1995, conceding defeat to the ascendant, nigh-ubiquitous machine eye.

The Cold War was a renaissance of psionic sci-fi, before “espionage” became “counter-terrorism,” when secrets leant themselves less to torture than to telepathic extraction. But the genre changed with the times. We no longer need to imagine a group mind, because we’ve found one in cyberspace, nor wait for telepathy, as telepathy-like machines will do. We might Some of us may find irony in the fact that disability—once a seeming prerequisite for ESP—now gets support from these machines, wherein a thought can move an avatar arm, or reach brains in other countries as quick flashes of lights, to be decoded as digits, then letters. Perhaps it’s time to revise that famous phrase: She thinks, therefore I am.

Modified Telepath v11

A moving arm, a flashing light may be as far as we get. Miguel Nicolelis, who famously predicted the coming of “neurosocial networking,” doubts that emotions, memories, and higher cognitive states will ever be capable of transmission. Could it be that these qualities, so integral to our notion of self, are resilient to telepathic capture? Is the soul digging trenches and fortifying ranks?

Or is this less a matter less of the soul than of the science of individuation, which holds that no two brains are exactly alike, and thus no thought can share the same neuronal position? If so, then achieving a group mind would require a feat of Borgesian proportions: seven billion, four hundred million dictionaries to be written with the means of translating between them. Before the printing press, we enslaved ourselves to transcription, and; soon, transcription may enslave the machines.

Added Dreyfuss v1

What is the shape, the size of democracy? It’s bigger than a breadbox and smaller than a planet, too much for the individual and rarely enough to fit a nation, like a mismatched lid on a boiling pot that lets the steam escape.

For the 1939 World’s Fair, the industrial designer Henry Dreyfuss scaled democracy as a model city, purpose-built with good intentions. There, each and every citizen would enjoy a garden apartment, a bucolic view, the landscaped highway to his job in the city, the landscaped highway for a swift retreat. “Democracity” claimed to depict the world one hundred years hence, but for many visitors, it was just around the corner.

Added Deyfuss v2

What is the face, the figure of democracy—life lived on the 50th percentile? The protagonists of Dreyfuss’s 1955 book, Designing for People, are Joe and Josephine: two polished mirrors of mid-century misogyny. The presumed residents of his greenfield city passed their days, respectively, on a linotype and over the ironing table; in a tank and at the switchboard. Their machines, like their mores, dictated how they should fit. Dreyfuss kept the mores, but improved the machines.

Joe passes his days in a tank, and Josephine at the switchboard; he loses a limb, and she routes the call. When Joe returns from the war, he finds his blue collars bleached. Starched, pressed Oxfords hang in his closet, ready for office work. And his stump, to his surprise, is a mark of distinction, for which Dreyfuss has designed a medal.

Joe wears his medal to work each day, the stainless steel hooks peeking out from his cuff. Sometimes, he casually rolls up his shirtsleeve, letting his colleagues marvel at the single housing, the hidden joints, the subtleties of the prosthetic’s engineering. If only they had a war hero’s life; what an honorable disability!

Added Dreyfuss v3.jpg

Modified Dreyfuss v1

What is the shape, the size of democracy? It’s bigger than a breadbox and smaller than a planet, too much for the individual and rarely enough to fit a nation, like a mismatched lid on a boiling pot that lets the steam escape.

For the 1939 World’s Fair, the industrial designer Henry Dreyfuss scaled democracy as a model city, purpose-built with good intentions. EachThere, each and every citizen would have the enjoyment ofenjoy a garden apartment, a bucolic view, the landscaped highway to his job in the city, the landscaped highway for a swift retreat. “Democracity” claimed to depict the world in aone hundred year’s timeyears hence, but for many visitors, it was just around the corner.

Modified Dreyfuss v2

What is the face, the figure of democracy—life lived on the 50th percentile? The protagonists of Dreyfuss’s 1955 book, Designing for People, are Joe and Josephine: two polished mirrors of mid-century misogyny. The presumed residents of his greenfield city passed their days, respectively, on a linotype and over the ironing table , or; in a tank and at the switchboard. Their machines, like their mores, dictated how they should fit. Dreyfuss kept the mores, but improved the machines.

Joe passes his days in a tank, and Josephine at the switchboard; he loses a limb, and she routes the call. When Joe returns from the war, he finds his blue collars bleached. Starched, pressed Oxfords hang in thehis closet, ready for office work. And his stump, to his surprise, is a distinguishing mark , deserving no less than a of distinction, for which Dreyfuss- has designed a medal.

Joe wears thehis medal to work each day, itsthe stainless steel hooks peeking out from his cuff. On occasion, he’ll rollSometimes, he casually rolls up his shirtsleeve to, letting his coworkers’ delight:colleagues marvel at the single housing, the hidden joints, the subtleties of the prosthetic’s engineering. If only they had a war hero’s life; what an honorable disability!

Modified Dreyfuss v1

What is the shape, the size of democracy? It’s bigger than a breadbox and smaller than a planet, too much for the individual and rarely enough to fit a nation, like a mismatched lid on a boiling pot that lets the steam escape.

For the 1939 World’s Fair, industrial designer Henry Dreyfuss scaled democracy as a model city, purpose-built with good intentions. Each and every citizen could enjoywould have the enjoyment of a garden apartment, a bucolic view, the landscaped highway to his job in the city, the landscaped highway for a swift retreat. “Democracity” claimed to depict the world in a hundred year’s time, but for many visitors, suburbiait was just around the corner.

Modified Dreyfuss v2

What is the face, the figure of democracy—life lived on the 50th percentile? Over the following decades, Dreyfuss zoomed in from the ideal city to the intimaciesThe protagonists of its users: from utopian theater to the science of ergonomics.

HisDreyfuss’s 1955 book, Designing for People, all but confirmed this shift, casting “are Joe and Josephine ” as its: two polished mirrors of mid-century gender. Thesemisogyny. The presumed residents of “Democracity”his greenfield city passed their days, respectively, on a linotype and over the ironing table, or in a tank and at the switchboard. Their machines —, like their mores —, dictated how they should fit , no matter the aches and injuries. Dreyfuss earned his reputation by improving. Dreyfuss kept the mores, but improved the machines.

Joe passes his days in a tank, and Josephine at the switchboard; he loses a limb, and she routes the call. When Joe returns from the war, he finds his blue collars bleached. Starched, pressed Oxfords hang in the closet, ready for office work. And his stump, to his surprise, is a distinguishing mark —a pedestal awaiting a medal. In the 1940s, Dreyfuss was contracted by the Veterans Administration to design just the thing. , deserving no less than a Dreyfuss-designed medal.

Joe wears histhe medal to work each day, theits stainless steel hooks peeking out from his cuff. On occasion, he’ll roll up his shirtsleeve to his coworkers’ delight: the single housing, the hidden joints, the subtleties of the prosthetic’s engineering. If only they had a war hero’s life; what an honorable disability!

Modified Dreyfuss v1

What is the shape, the size of democracy? It’s bigger than a breadbox and smaller than a planet, too much for the individual and rarely enough to fit a nation, like a mismatched lid on a boiling pot that lets the steam escape.

For the 1939 World’s Fair, Henry Dreyfuss scaled democracy as a model city, purpose-built with good intentions. Each and every residentcitizen could enjoy a garden apartment, a bucolic view, the landscaped highway to his job downtownin the city, the landscaped highway for a swift retreat. “Democracity” claimed to depict the world in a hundred year’s time, thoughbut for many visitors, suburbia was just around the corner.

Modified Dreyfuss v2

What is the face, the figure of democracy—life lived on the 50th percentile? Over the following decades, Dreyfuss zoomed in from his greenfieldthe ideal city to the intimacies of its users: from utopian theater to the science of ergonomics.

His 1955 book, Designing for People, all but confirmed this shift, casting “Joe and Josephine” as paragonsits polished mirrors of mid-century gender. TheThese presumed residents of “Democracity” passed their days, respectively, on a linotype and over the ironing table, in a tank and at the switchboard. Their machines ,~~ —like their mores , —dictated how they should fit (,~~ no matter the aches and injuries). Dreyfuss earned his reputation by improving the machines.

Joe passes his days in a tank, and Josephine at the switchboard; he loses a limb, and she routes the call. When Joe returns from the war, he finds his blue collars bleached. Starched, pressed Oxfords hang in the closet, ready for office work. And his stump, to his surprise, is a distinguishing mark—a plaque in need ofpedestal awaiting a medal. In the 1940s, Dreyfuss was contracted by the Veterans Administration to design just the thing.

Joe wears his medal to work each day, the stainless steel hooks peeking out from his cuff. On occasion, he’ll roll up his shirtsleeve to his coworkers’ delight , revealing: the single housing, the hidden joints, the subtleties of the prosthetic’s engineering. If only they had a war hero’s life; what an honorable disability!

Modified Dreyfuss v2

What is the face, the figure of democracy—life lived on the 50th percentile? Over the following decades, Dreyfuss zoomed in from his greenfield city to the intimate livesintimacies of its users: from utopian theater to the science of ergonomics.

His 1955 book, Designing for People, all but confirmed this shift, casting “Joe and Josephine” as paragons of mid-century gender. The residents of “Democracity” passed their days, respectively, on a linotype and over the ironing table, in a tank and at the switchboard. Their machines, like their mores, dictated how they should fit (no matter the aches and injuries). Dreyfuss earned his reputation by improving the machines.

Joe passes his days in a tank, and Josephine pass their days, respectively, on a linotype and over the ironing table, then in a tank and at the switchboard.; Hhe loses a limb. She, and she routes athe call. When Joe returns from the war, he finds his blue collars bleached. Starched and, pressed Oxfords hang in the closet, ready for office work. And his stump, to his surprise, is a distinguishing mark—a plaque in need of a medal. In the 1940s, Dreyfuss was contracted by the Veterans Administration to design just the thing.

Joe wears his medal to work each day, the stainless steel hooks peeking out from his cuff. On occasion, he’ll roll up his shirtsleeve to his coworkers’ delight, revealing the single housing, the hidden joints, the subtleties of the prosthetic’s engineering. If only they had a war hero’s life; what an honorable disability!

Added Smurf v1

There was a time when you couldn’t find the Smurf village without being led by a Smurf, and even then, the journey was considerable. Mountains, deserts, marshes, and forests encircle “the Cursed Land” they call home.

Isolation, it seems, yields utopian results. Absent are the instruments of economy, the myths of individuality keeping us forever at arm’s length. Everyone has a strength performed to communal effect; none lacks a bed in a mushroom.

The Smurfs should be happy, and yet they’re blue. A smile tells one story, and the skin another. Does the seclusion, the inbreeding make them so? The strain of a magical thought stretched to the scale of society? Or the recognition that, capitalists or not, they’re the essential ingredient for turning matter into gold?

Nowadays, you can visit without needing a guide. “The Cursed Land” is a bit of Kentucky around Hazard and Troublesome Creek Times. These Smurfs pale in comparison to their televisual peers. They’ve been blue since 1820 and are fading every day: whenever a stranger dilutes the stock, whenever a new highway presents itself. Perhaps, on a bluer planet, they’d have better success…

The story of the Fugates is disappointingly scientific. Their tint owes to a blood disorder, which produces a surplus of hemoglobin unable to release oxygen into the body. Yet their propagation merits a literary gloss, for how rarely does the world plot two humans in relative seclusion, who both happen to carry the fateful recessive gene?

This tree grows sideways and byways, not onwards and upwards. “You’ll notice,” said one descendent, that “I’m kin to myself.”

Modified Smurf v1

There was a time when you couldn’t find the Smurf village without being led by a Smurf, and even then, the journey was considerable. Mountains, deserts, marshes, and forests encircle “the Cursed Land” they call home.

Isolation, it seems, yields utopian results. Absent are the instruments of economy, the myths of individuality forever keeping us forever at arm’s length. Everyone has a strength performed to communal effect; none lacks a bed in a mushroom.

The Smurfs should be happy, and yet they’re blue. A smile tells one story, and the skin another. Does the seclusion, the inbreeding make them so? The strain of a magical thoughtan utopian idea stretched to the scale offit their society? Or the recognition that, capitalists or not, they’re the essential ingredient for turning matter into gold?

Nowadays, you can visit without needing a guide.;somewhere in “The Cursed Land” is a bit of Kentucky, neararound Hazard and Troublesome Creek Times.,is the human equivalent of "The Cursed Land." ItsThese Smurfs—or "Blue Fugates"—pale in comparison to their televisual peers. They’ve been blue since 1820 and are fading every day: whenever a stranger dilutes the stock, whenever a new highway presents itselfappears. Perhaps, on a bluer planet, they’d have better success…

As the science has it, the Blue Fugates sufferThe story of the Fugates is disappointingly scientific. Their tint owes to a blood disorder, which produces a surplus of hemoglobin unable to release oxygen into the body. As the novelist might write,Yet their propagation merits a literary gloss, for how rarely does the world plot two humans in relative seclusionseclude a man and a woman, who both happen to carry the fateful recessive gene?

This tree grows sideways and byways, not onwards and upwards. “You’ll notice,” said one descendent, that “I’m kin to myself.”

Modified Smurf v1

There was a time when you couldn’t find the Smurf village without being led by a Smurf, and even then, the journey was considerable. Mountains, deserts, marshes, and forests encircle “the Cursed Land” they call home.

Isolation, it seems, yields utopian results. Absent are the instruments of economy, the myths of individuality forever keeping us at arm’s length. Everyone has a strength performed to communal effect; none lacks a bed in a mushroom.

The Smurfs should be happy, and yet they’re blue. A smile tells one story, and the skin another. Does the seclusion, the inbreeding make them so? The strain of an utopian idea stretched to fit their society? Or the recognition that, capitalists or not, they’re the essential ingredient for turning matter into gold?

Nowadays, you can visit without needing a guide; somewhere in Kentucky, near the towns of Hazard and Troublesome Creek Times, is the human equivalent of “The Cursed Land.” Its Smurfs—or “Blue Fugates”—pale in comparison to their comictelevisual peers. They’ve been blue since 1820 and are fading every day: whenever a newcomerstranger dilutes the stock, whenever an exit is paveda new highway appears. Perhaps, on a bluer planet, they’d have better success…

TheAs the science has it, the Blue Fugates aresuffer a textbook case of “founder effect,” or the effect on a small, isolated community of its founders’ genetic stock. Often, the wane of genetic variation allows for the wax of recessive traits: the blood disorder that gives some Amish extra fingers and toes, or causes girls born in a village in the Dominican Republic to sprout penises around puberty. Ernst Mayr, the evolutionary biologist, went so far as to claim that founder effect can lead to speciation!

The founders of the Fugates, Martin and Elizabeth, shared a genetic condition called methemoglobinemia. Their blood produced, which produces a surplus of hemoglobin unable to release oxygen into the body. Living in geographical and genetic seclusion (albeit with more than one Smurfette) Martin and Elizabeth’s progeny had no choice but be blue.As the novelist might write, how rarely does the world seclude a man and a woman, who both happen to carry the fateful recessive gene?

This tree grows sideways and byways, not onwards and upwards. “You’ll notice,” said one descendent, that “I’m kin to myself.”

Modified Smurf v1

There was a time when you couldn’t find the Smurf village without being led by a Smurf, and even then, the journey was considerable. Mountains, deserts, marshes, and forests encircle “Tthe Cursed Land” they call home.

Isolation, it seems, yields utopian results. Absent are the instruments of economy, the myths of individuality forever keeping us at arm’s length. Everyone has a strength performed to communal effect; none lacks a bed in a mushroom.

The Smurfs should be happy, and yet they’re blue. A smile tells one story, and the skin another. Does the seclusion, the inbreeding make them so? The strain of aan utopian idea stretched to fit their society? Or the recognition that, capitalists or not, they’re the essential ingredient for turning matter into gold?

Nowadays, you can visit without needing a guide; somewhere in Kentucky, near the towns of Hazard and Troublesome Creek Times, is the human equivalent of “The Cursed Land.” Its Smurfs—or “Blue Fugates”—pale in comparison to their comic peers. They’ve been blue since 1820 and are fading every day: whenever a newcomer dilutes the dyestock, whenever an exit is paved. Perhaps, on a bluer planet, they’d have better success…

The Fugates are a textbook case of “founder effect,” or the effect on a small, isolated community of its founders’ genetic stock. AsOften, the wane of genetic variation decreases, over generations,allows for the wax of recessive traits come to the fore, like: the disorder that gives some Amish extra fingers and toes, or the one that causes ~~many girls fromborn in a village in the Dominican Republic to sprout penises around puberty. Ernst Mayr, anthe evolutionary biologist, has boldly claimed that changes brought on bywent so far as to claim that founder effect can lead to speciation!

The founders of the Fugates, Martin and Elizabeth, shared a genetic condition called methemoglobinemia, in which the. Their blood produceds a surplus of hemoglobin unable to release oxygen into the body. Living in geographical and genetic seclusion (albeit with more than one Smurfette) theirMartin and Elizabeth’s progeny had no choice but be blue.

This tree grows sideways and byways, not onwards and upwards. “You’ll notice,” said one descendent, that “I’m kin to myself.”

Modified Smurf v1

There was a time when you couldn’t find the Smurf village without being led by a Smurf, and even then, the journey was considerable. Mountains, deserts, marshes, and forests encircle “The Cursed Land” they call home.

Isolation, it seems, yields utopian results. Absent are the instruments of economy, the myths of individuality forever keeping us at arm’s length. Everyone has a strength performed to communal effect; none lacks a bed in a mushroom.

The Smurfs should be happy, and yet they’re blue. A smile tells one story, and the skin another. Does the seclusion, the inbreeding make them so? The strain of a utopian idea stretched to fit their society? Or the recognition that, capitalists or not, they’re the essential ingredient for turning matter into gold?

Nowadays, you can visit without needing a guide; somewhere in Kentucky, near the towns of Hazard and Troublesome Creek Times, is the human equivalent of “The Cursed Land.” Its Smurfs—or “Blue Fugates”—pale in comparison to their comic peers. They’ve been blue since 1820 and are fading every day: whenever a newcomer dilutes the dye, whenever an exit is paved.

The Fugates are a textbook case of “founder effect,” or the effect on a small, isolated community of its founders’ genetic stock. As genetic variation decreases, over generations, recessive traits come to the fore, like the disorder that gives some Amish extra fingers and toes, or the one that causes many girls from a village in the Dominican Republic to sprout penises around puberty. Ernst Mayr, an evolutionary biologist, has boldly claimed that changes brought on by founder effect can lead to speciation!

The founders of the Fugates, Martin and Elizabeth, shared a genetic condition called methemoglobinemia, in which the blood produces a surplus of hemoglobin unable to release oxygen into the body. Living in geographical and genetic seclusion (albeit with more than one Smurfette) their progeny had no choice but be blue.

This tree grows sideways and byways, not onwards and upwards. “You’ll notice,” said one descendent, that “I’m kin to myself.”

Added Smurf v2

Nowadays, you can visit without needing a guide; somewhere in Kentucky, near the towns of Hazard and Troublesome Creek Times, is the human equivalent of “The Cursed Land.” Its Smurfs—or “Blue Fugates”—pale in comparison to their comic peers. They’ve been blue since 1820 and are fading every day: whenever a newcomer dilutes the dye, whenever an exit is paved.

The Fugates are a textbook case of “founder effect,” or the effect on a small, isolated community of its founders’ genetic stock. As genetic variation decreases, over generations, recessive traits come to the fore, like the disorder that gives some Amish extra fingers and toes, or the one that causes many girls from a village in the Dominican Republic to sprout penises around puberty. Ernst Mayr, an evolutionary biologist, has boldly claimed that changes brought on by founder effect can lead to speciation!

The founders of the Fugates, Martin and Elizabeth, shared a genetic condition called methemoglobinemia, in which the blood produces a surplus of hemoglobin unable to release oxygen into the body. Living in geographical and genetic seclusion (albeit with more than one Smurfette) their progeny had no choice but be blue.

This tree grows sideways and byways, not onwards and upwards. “You’ll notice,” said one descendent, that “I’m kin to myself.”

Modified Smurf v1

There was a time when you couldn’t find the Smurf village without being led by a Smurf, and even then, the journey was considerable. Mountains, deserts, marshes, and forests encircle “The Cursed Land” they call home.

Isolation, it seems, yields utopian results. Absent are the instruments of economy, the myths of individuality forever keeping us at arm’s length. Everyone has a strength performed to communal effect; none lacks a bed in a mushroom.

The Smurfs should be happy, and yet they’re blue. A smile tells one story, and the skin another. Does the seclusion, the inbreeding make them so? The strain of maintaining a utopian life?idea stretched to fit their society? Or the recognition that, socialistscapitalists or not, they’re the essential ingredient for turning matter into gold?

Modified Smurf v2

Nowadays, you can visit without needing a guide.; Ssomewhere in Kentucky, near the towns of Hazard and Troublesome Creek Times, is the human equivalent of “The Cursed Land.” Its Smurfs—or “Blue Fugates”—pale in comparison to their cartooncomic peers. They’ve been blue since 1820, but and are fading every day: whenever a newcomer dilutes the dye, whenever an exit is paved.

The Fugates are a textbook case of the “founder effect,” or the impacteffect on a small, isolated community of its founders’ genetic stock. As genetic variation decreases, over the course of generations, recessive traits come to the fore, like the syndrome~~ disorder~~ that gives some Amish extra fingers and toes, or the one that causes many girls from a village in the Dominican Republic to sprout penises around puberty. Ernst Mayr, an evolutionary biologist, has boldly claimed that changes brought on by the founder effect can lead to speciation!

The founders of the Fugates, Martin and Elizabeth, shared a genetic condition called methemoglobinemia, in which makes the blood produce a surplus of hemoglobin that is unable to release oxygen into the body. Living in geographical and genetic seclusion (albeit with more than one Smurfette), their progeny had no choice but to be blue.

This tree grows sideways and byways, not onwards and upwards. “You’ll notice,” said one descendent, that “I’m kin to myself.”

Added Guppy v1

We are getting stupider.

In the last 20,000 years, our brain has lost roughly the size of a tennis ball, diminishing the most valuable, untapped resource on the planet. And while the resulting organ leaves some gray matter to mine, gone are countless cognitive potentials for the making of a superior future human.

The problem is domestication. As Harvard primatologist Richard Wrangham has shown, each of our domesticated animals possesses ten-to-fifteen percent less brain volume, compared to their wild counterparts. Selection against aggression, he suspects, favors individuals with juvenile brains.

Human domestication has yielded similar results, though it goes by another name. “The social contract” constricts our savagery, building laws to fence us in. Those few barbarians born in captivity—those “more complete people,” writes Nietzsche (by which he means “more complete beasts”)—are made the exceptions to prove this rule. A breeder decides which dog will live on through its litter, and capital punishment, which human will die.

Added Guppy v2

We are getting smarter.

A big brain was the Mark 1 of cognitive processors, scaled to fit its Cro-Magnon case. For all the energy guzzling, it had little to show: the massive muscles of the hominid continued to motor, backwards from predators and forwards to prey. Surviving the state of nature required this basic amount of tact; society is no less treacherous, but with security enough for the brain and the body to begin to relax.

The true measure of the brain is its complexity on cellular and molecular levels. Neural density correlates to computational capacity. True, our processors are growing larger again with the benefit of good nutrition, yet demand too much energy and the body will suffer, blackouts rolling across the biological grid. When researchers selected for larger-brained guppies, for example, gut sizes shrunk as much as twenty percent—and reproduction rates by the same amount. No wonder the top-heavy humans of fictional futures are often infirm from head to toe.

Added Guppy v3

Sometime in the next two thousand million years, our brain will be fully mapped, its quirks and capacities painstakingly known. The entire history of human enterprise has worked towards this era: when the organ can be employed to full effect, its neurons fired at maximum strength. Our descendants ready an approach to the truly profound, yet to their surprise, hit an evolutionary brick wall.

Insights come in the strangest places. Thrown back on their rumps and looking groggily about, they notice the objects in orbit—the twinkling stars, the cuckoo birds, the brains flying out of their noggins. Perhaps the most they can do, in light of their limits, is to build this next link in the chain.

In prototypical form, this next human is an exaggeration, even by homuncular standards. Embryonic manipulation yields a brain twelve feet in diameter, vaguely attached to a diminutive body. Whatever the intellectual gains of growing so large a brain, there are equal losses in autonomy. This prototype will live an unhappy four years, at the mercy of bioregulation machines, until obesity does it in.

Eventually, our descendants perfect their design, the organ growing to span a forty-[dimension?] diameter turret, built with pockets in which its gyri collect. Lords of these concrete towers, Übermenschen manifest, the “Great Brains” are even more demanding than their prototype, requiring such a wealth of material resources as to turn their makers into voluntary slaves, destined to toil away for these idols.

With infinite intellectual ability, the “Great Brains” could venture far beyond the confines of human thought, exploring wilds beyond our imagining: the true savagery of the mind. Yet the further they travel, the more they recognize that their astounding cognitive gifts come at severe bodily cost. Could their capacities, they wonder, create a more perfect being, mind and body in greater harmony? The next link in the history of human enterprise, it seems, merely repeats the first.

Modified Guppy v1

We are getting stupider.

OverIn the plast 20,000 years, our brain has shrunk bylost roughly the size of a tennis ball, diminishing the most valuable, untapped resource on the planet. And while the resulting organ is left withleaves some gray matter to mine, gone are countless cognitive potentials for the making of a bettersuperior future human.

The problem is domestication. As Harvard primatologist Richard Wrangham has shown, each of our domesticated animals possesses ten-to-fifteen percent less brain volume than, compared to their peers in the wild~~ counterparts~~. Selection against aggression, he suspects, favors individuals with juvenile brains.

For humans, “the social contract” isHuman domestication~~ has yielded similar results, though it goes~~ by another name , its laws built like fences to keep. “The social contract” constricts our savagery contained. The , building laws to fence us in. Those few who protest theirbarbarians born in captivity , whom Nietzsche calls—those “more complete people ” (meaning,” writes Nietzsche (by which he means “more complete beasts ”), ”)—are made the exceptions thatto prove thisthe rule. A breeder decides which dog will live on through its litter, and capital punishment, which human will die.

Modified Guppy v2

We are getting smarter.

A big brain was the Mark 1 of cognitive processors, housed in ascaled to fit its Cro-Magnon case. For all the energy guzzling, it had little to show:. Thethe massive muscles of hominidsthe hominid continued to motor, backwards from predators and forwards to prey. Surviving the state of nature required this basic amount of tact; society is no less treacherous, but with security enough for the brain and the body to begin to relax.

The truereal measure of the brain isn’t size, butis its complexity on cellular and molecular complexitylevels. Neural density correlates to computational capacity. True, our organ isprocessors are growing larger again with the benefit of good nutrition, but if it demandsyet demand too much energy , the rest of and the body will suffer, blackouts rolling across the biological grid.

Consider the guppy. In 2015,When researchers ran an experiment selectingselected for larger-brained females, finding that their superior cognitive abilities were offset by dwindlingguppies, for example, gut sizes shrunk as much as twenty percent—and reproduction rates by the same amount. No wonder the top-heavy humans of fictional futures are often infirm from head to toe.

Modified Guppy v3

Sometime in the next two thousand million years, our brain will be fully mapped, its quirks and capacities painstakingly known. HumanThe entire history of human enterprise has been workingworked towards this moment,era: when the organ can functionbe employed to full effect, its neurons firinged at maximum strength. Our descendants ready an approach to the truly profound, yet to their surprise, hit an evolutionary brick wall.

What to do with a perfect brain? We’ll plumb the depths of profundity (yet find no end to profundity) and create a trillion insights impossible to parse, then conceal our findings and publicly declare: when there’s no improving the human brain, build a better human—build a better brain.

The prototypeInsights come in the strangest places. Thrown back on their rumps and looking groggily about, they notice the objects in orbit—the twinkling stars, the cuckoo birds, the brains flying out of their noggins. Perhaps the most they can do, in light of their limits, is to build this next link in the chain. In prototypical form, this next human is an exaggeration, even by homuncular standards. Embryonic manipulation yields a brain twelve feet in diameter, vaguely attached to a diminutive body. Whatever the intellectual gains of growing so large an organa brain, there are equal losses in autonomy. Theis prototype will live an unhappy four years, at the mercy of bioregulation machines, until obesity does it in.

Eventually, we’llour descendants perfect ourtheir design, the organ expandinggrowing to fillspan a forty -foot-[dimension?] diameter turret, built with pockets in which its gyri collect. Lords of these concrete tower, Übermenschtowers, Übermenschen manifest, thise “Great Brain” isBrains” are even more demanding than itstheir prototype, requiring so manysuch a wealth of material resources as to survive that itsturn their makers turn into voluntary slaves, toilingdestined to toil away for their idolthese idols.

The With infinite intellectual ability, the ~~“Great Brain” canBrains” could~~ venture far into the beyond the confines of human thought, exploring wilds beyond our imagining: the true savagery of the mind , discovering savageries of thought heretofore unknown to the world. Still, such. Yet the further they travel, the more they recognize that their astounding cognitive gifts come at severe bodily cost : the brain is prisoner to its own intelligence. And so it stops venturing and discovering and starts designing a prototype, giving brain. Could their capacities, they wonder, create a more perfect being, mind and body the perfect proportions. When there’s no improving the “Great Brain,” build a better human—build a better brain. in greater harmony? The next link in the history of human enterprise, it seems, merely repeats the first.

Modified Guppy v1

We are getting stupider.

Over the past 20,000 years, our brain has shrunk by roughly the size of a tennis ball, diminishing the most valuable resource on the planet. ThoughAnd while the organ is left with some gray matter to mine, gone are countless cognitive potentials for the making of a better future human.

The problem is domestication. As Harvard primatologist Richard Wrangham has shown, the brains of our domesticated animals arepossess ten-to-fifteen percent smallerless brain volume than those of their peers in the wild. Wrangham suspects that in selectingSelection against aggression, we’ve inadvertently favored creatureshe suspects, favors individuals with juvenile brains.

Beyond the world of pets,For humans, “the social contract” is domestication goes by another name : “the social contract” that constricts our freedom, keeping, its laws built like fences to keep our savagery at bay. Thosecontained. The few who protest the captive life—Nietzsche’stheir captivity, whom Nietzsche calls “more complete people” (read:meaning “more complete beasts ”)—”), are made the exceptions that prove the rule. A breeder decides which dog will live on through its litter, and capital punishment, which human will die.

Modified Guppy v2

We are getting smarter.

A big brain was the Mark 1 of cognitive processors, housed in a Cro-Magnon case. For all the energy guzzling, it had little to show. The massive muscles of its hominidhominids continued to motor, backwards from predators and forwards to prey.

The real measure of the brain isn’t size, but cellular and molecular complexity. Neural density correlates to computational capacity. True, our organ is growing larger again with the benefit of good nutrition, but if it demands too much energy, the rest of the body will suffer, blackouts rolling across the biological grid.

Consider the guppy. In 2015, researchers ran an experiment selecting for female guppies with larger brains, finding that their superior mental abilities to come withwere offset by dwindling gut sizes and reproduction rates. No wonder the top-heavy humans of fictional futures are often infirm from neckhead to toe.

Modified Guppy v3

Sometime in the next two thousand million years, ourthe brain will be fully mapped —, its quirks and limits painstakingly known. Human enterprise has been working towards this moment, when theour organ reveals all its quirks and crannies, its limitations, its cartoon brick walls. Less perfect than expected, even when it functions—functioning to full effect —, firing neurons firing at maximum strength —our brain can offer little more than another link instrive for even greater efficiency. How to enhance the chain: It canbrain? We’ll plumb the depths of profundity (yet find no end to profundity) and create a trillion insights impossible to parse, then conceal our findings and publicly declare: when there’s no improving the human brain, build a better human to build a better brain.

TheOur prototype would be an exaggeration, even by homuncular standards. Embryonic manipulation yields a brain twelve feet in diameter, vaguely attached to a diminutive body. Whatever the intellectual gains of growing so large an organ, there are equal losses in autonomy. This “better human” will live an unhappy fewfour years, at the mercy of bioregulation machines, until obesity does it in.

Eventually, we might perfect our design, the organ expanding to fill a forty-foot diameter turret, built with pockets in which its gyri collect. Lord of the concrete tower, Übermensch manifest, this “Great Brain” would be even more demanding than its prototype, requiring so many resources to survive that we turn, in practice, intowe’re reduced to voluntary slaves, toiling away for our idol.

The “Great Brain” could venture far into the wilds of the mind, where savageries of thought live unbeknown to the greater world. Yet all the while, its body is static: the turret a jail, the pockets like cells. How little there is to life when you’re a prisoner to intelligence…

In time, the brain designs a prototype, setting mind and body in better proportion. When there’s no improving the “Great Brain,” build a better human to build a better brain.

Modified Guppy v2

We are getting smarter.

A big brain was the Mark 1 of cognitive processors, housed in a Cro-Magnon case. For all the energy guzzling, it had little to show. The massive muscles of its hominid , more by habit than smarts, moved continued to motor, backwards from predators and forwards to prey.

The real measure of the brain isn’t size, but cellular and molecular complexity. Neural density correlates to computational capacity. True, our organ is growing larger again with the benefit of good nutrition, but if it demands too much energy, the rest of the body will suffer, blackouts rolling across the biological grid.

Consider the guppy. In 2015, researchers ran an experiment selecting for female guppies with larger brains, finding that their gains insuperior mental ability correlated withabilities to come with dwindling gut sizes and reproduction rates. No wonder the top-heavy humans of fictional futures are often infirm from neck to toe.

Modified Guppy v3

Sometime in the next two thousand million years, our brain will be mapped and —painstakingly known. Human enterprise has been working towards this moment, when at last, we can seethe organ reveals all theits quirks and crannies, theits limitations, theits cartoon brick walls. We Less perfect than expected, even when it functions to find such imperfections; unfortunately, we had never imagined the scope—never conceived that full effect—neurons firing at maximum strength— our minds, shown with perfect clarity, would fall so piteously short of the heavens.

In time, we concede the point: If there’s no improving the human brain , we’ll can offer little more than another link in the chain: It can build a better human to build a better brain.

OurThe prototype iswould be an exaggeration, even by homuncular standards.. Embryonic manipulation yields a brain twelve feet in diameter, vaguely attached to a diminutive body. Whatever the intellectual gains of growing so large an organ, there are equal losses in autonomy. This “better human” will live an unhappy few years, at the mercy of bioregulation machines, until obesity does it in.

Eventually, we might perfect our design, the organ spreading throughexpanding to fill a forty-foot diameter turret, built with pockets in which its gyri collecting in various pockets.collect. Lord of the concrete tower, Übermensch manifest, this “Great Brain” iswould be even more demanding than its prototype, requiring so many resources that we turn, in practice, into voluntary slaves, toiling away for our idol.

The “Great Brain” cancould venture far into the wilds of the mind, where savageries of thought live unbeknown to the greater world. Yet all the while, its body is static: the turret a jail, the pockets like cells. How little there is to life when you’re a prisoner to intelligence…

In time, the brain designs a prototype, setting mind and body in better proportion. If When there’s no improving the “Great Brain,” build a better human to build a better brain.

Added Great Chain v1

The great chain of being, that marvelous convenience that linked lowest to highest, the dialogues of Plato to the satires of Pope, began as a divine provocation.

Greeks and Trojans were standing on opposing margins of a blank page, ready to rush into the first chapter of history; Zeus, fearing the gods would lend their penmanship to the cause, threatened exile for offending parties. To challenge his decision, to strap a gold chain to the heavens and drag him down, was tantamount to folly. Zeus would not budge. In fact, with a mere tug of the chain, he could send the rebels flying, pulling the carnal world in their wake. A sinister chain became a triviality, man and god the baubles on a necklace draped around the peak of Olympus.

Zeus never acted on his threats, and his gauntlet grew forgetful, ever less a challenge and ever more a chain. Nature, too, had forgotten: gradually, its kin found shelter in the links, growing accustomed to the altitude, the neighbors, the elliptical life. As moss grows on a rock, so the natural world took to its host, until the two were impossible to distinguish.

Gods came and went, and still the chain kept hanging—no longer the plaything of a boastful god, but the instrument of a wise one. Elizabethans seeking evidence of the Almighty’s plan needed look no further than this object, where everything had a place. The ugliest stone, the poisonous animal, the treacherous snake, the louse could not be considered errors of creation, because they also got their link. So too did the beggar, the deaf, and the dumb have their place in society, provided they stuck to it.

Everything—even angels—got a link, though complex hierarchies abounded. Wild beasts were superior to domesticated ones for their resilience to human training. Avian creatures bested the aquatic, as surely as air’s domain sits above water’s. In the insect realm, aesthetics ranked the ladybug nearly as high as the bee, whose kingdom lent itself to allegory. The chain’s links ended well before Hell, lest the sinners attempted to climb.

Man held a special position in this chain. Through will and wit, he stood one link above the beasts, yet given his carnal form, one shy of the angels. By the eighteenth century, his position drew concern, for surely the lowest angel was immeasurably superior to man! The thinkers found themselves in a quandary: conceding this point would break the chain, yet ignoring it would border on sin. And so, in a prescient act, links were added—inhabitable planets were imagined, home to beings that bridged the gap. Unlike the extraterrestrials of our age, those of the eighteenth century weren’t foreign to humankind; they fit hand in glove with its logics.

Philosophies wane and sciences wax, and still the chain keeps hanging. We’re still searching for the missing links; someday, we may come to fill them.

Added Great Chain v2.jpg

Modified Great Chain v1

The Great Chaingreat chain of Bbeing, that marvelous convenience linkingthat linked lowest to highest, the dialogues of Plato to the satires of Pope, began as a divine provocation.

Some way into The Iliad, as Greeks and Trojans stoodwere standing on opposing margins of a blank page, ready to rush into the first chapter of history; Zeus elected to issue a rule. Any , fearing the gods who lentwould lend their penmanship, he warned, would suffer no less a fate than to the cause, threatened exile. And any attempt to overthrow for offending parties. To challenge his authority—decision, to latchstrap a gold chain to the heavens and drag him down —would be, was tantamount to folly. He was too powerful toZeus would not budge.

In fact, with a mere tug of the chain, Zeus threatened to he could send the rebel godsrebels flying, pulling the carnal world pulled in their wake. TheA sinister chain could easily become his plaything—his became a triviality, man and god the baubles on a necklace to hangdraped around the peakneck of Olympus.

Zeus never acted on these wordshis threats, and his gauntlet grew forgetful, ever less a challenge and ever more a chain. Nature, too, had forgotten: gradually, its kin found shelter in the links, growing accustomed to the altitude, the neighbors, the elliptical life. As moss grows on a rock, so the natural world took to its host, until the two were impossible to distinguish.

Gods came and went, and still the chain kept hanging—no longer the plaything of a boastful god, but the instrument of a wise one. Elizabethans seeking evidence of the Almighty’s plan needed look no further than this object, where everything had a place. The ugliest stone, the poisonous animal, the treacherous snake, and the louse couldn’tcould not be considered errors of creation, because they alsoall got atheir link. So too did the beggar and, the deaf mute, and the dumb have their place in society, provided they stuck to it.

Everything—even angels—got a link, though complex hierarchies abounded. Wild beasts were superior to domesticated ones for their resilience to human training. Avian creatures bested the aquatic, as surely as air’s domain sits above water’s. In the insect realm, aesthetics ranked the beautiful ladybug ranked nearly as high as the bee, whose kingdom served for sociallent itself to allegory. The chain’s links often ended well before Hell, lest the sinners attempted to climb.

Man held a special position in this chain. Owing to his witThrough will and witwill, he stood one link above the beasts, yet given his carnal form, one shy of the angels. By the Eighteenth Century, this eighteenth century, his position had become increasingly suspectdrew concern, for surely the lowestlowliest angel was farimmeasurably superior to man! The scholarsthinkers found themselves in a quandary: conceding thisthe point would break the chain, andyet ignoring it would border on pridesin. And so, in a prescient act, links were added and—inhabitable planets were imagined, home to beings that could bridgebridged the gap. Unlike the extraterrestrials of our age, those of the Eighteenth Centuryeighteenth century weren’t foreign to humankind; they fit hand in glove with its logics.

Philosophies wane and sciences wax, and still the chain keeps hanging. We’re still searching for thethose missing links; someday, we may come to fill them.

Modified Great Chain v1

The Great Chain of Being, that marvelous convenience linking lowest to highest, the dialogues of Plato to the satires of Pope, began as a divine provocation.

Some way into The Iliad, as Greeks and Trojans stood on opposing margins of a blank page, Zeus elected to issue a rule. Any gods who lent their penmanship to mortals, he warned, would suffer no less a fate than exile. And any attempt to overthrow his authority—to latch a chain to the heavens and drag him down—would be tantamount to folly. He was too powerful to budge.

In fact, with a mere tug of the chain, Zeus threatened to send the rebel gods flying, the carnal world pulled in their wake. The chain could easily become his plaything—his necklace to hang around the neck of Olympus.

Zeus never acted on these words, and his gauntlet grew forgetful, ever less a challenge and ever more a chain. Nature, too, had forgotten: gradually, its kin found shelter in the links, growing accustomed to the altitude, the neighbors, the elliptical life. As moss grows on a rock, so the natural world took to its host, until the two were impossible to distinguish.

Gods came and went, and still the chain kept hanging—no longer the plaything of a boastful god, but the instrument of a wise one. Elizabethans seeking evidence of the Almighty’s plan needed look no further than this object, where everything had a place. The ugliest stone, the poisonous animal, the treacherous snake, and the louse couldn’t be errors of creation, because they all got a link. So too did the beggar and deaf mute have their place in society, provided they stuck to it.

Everything—even angels—got a link, though complex hierarchies abounded. Wild beasts were superior to domesticated ones for their resilienceresistance to human training. Avian creatures bested the aquatic, as surely as air’s domain sits above water’s. In the insect realm, the beautiful ladybug ranked nearly as high as the bee, whose kingdom served for social allegory. The chain’s links often ended well before Hell, lest the sinners attempted to climb.

Man held a special position in this chain. Owing to his wit and will, he stood one link above the beasts, yet in his carnal form, one shy of the angels. By the Eighteenth Century, this position had become increasingly suspect, for surely the lowliest angel was far superior to man! The scholars found themselves in a quandary: conceding the point would break the chain, and ignoring it would border on pride. And so, in a prescient act, links were added and planets imagined, home to beings that could bridge the gap. Unlike the extraterrestrials of our age, those of the Eighteenth Century weren’t foreign to humankind; they fit hand in glove with its logics.

Philosophies wane and sciences wax, and still the chain keeps hanging. We’re searching for those missing links; someday, we may come to fill them.

Modified Great Chain v1

The Great Chain of Being, that marvelous convenience linking lowest to highest, the dialogues of Plato to the satires of Pope, began as a divine provocation.

Some way into The Iliad, as Greeks and Trojans stood on opposing margins of a blank page, Zeus decidedelected to issue a warningrule. Any gods who lent their penmanship to mortals, he warned, would suffer no less a fate than exile. And any attempt to overthrow his authority—to latch a chain to the heavens and drag him down—would be tantamount to folly. He was too powerful to budge.

In fact, with a mere tug of the chain, Zeus threatened to send the rebel gods flying, the carnal world pulled in their wake. The chain could easily become his plaything—hisa necklace to hang around the neckpeak of Olympus.

Zeus never acted on these words, and his gauntlet grew forgetful, ever less a challenge and ever more a chain. Nature, too, had forgotten: gradually, its kin found shelter in the links, growing accustomed to the altitude and, the neighbors, the elliptical life. As moss grows on a rock, so the natural world took to its host, until the two were impossible to distinguish.

Gods came and went, and still the chain kept hanging—no longer the plaything of a boastful god, but the instrument of a wise one. Elizabethans seeking evidence of the Almighty’s plan needed look no further than this object, where everything had a place. The ugliest stone, the poisonous animal, the treacherous snake, and the louse couldn’t be errors of creation, because they all got a link. So too did the beggar and deaf mute have their place in society, provided they stuck to it.

Everything—even angels—got a link, though complex hierarchies abounded. Wild beasts were superior to domesticated ones for their resistance to human training. Avian creatures bested the aquatic, as surely as air’s domain sits above water’s. In the insect realm, the beautiful ladybug ranked nearly as high as the bee, whose kingdom served as for social allegory. The chain’s links usuallyoften ended well before Hell, lest the sinners attempted to climb.

Man held a special position in this chain. Owing to his wit and will, he stood one link above the beasts, yet in his carnal form, one shy of the angels. By the Eighteenth Century, this position had become thoroughlyincreasingly suspect, for surely the lowliest angel was far superior to man! The scholars found themselves in a quandary: conceding the point would break the chain, and ignoring it borderedwould border on pride. And so, in a prescient act, links were added and planets imagined, home to beings that could bridge the gap. Unlike the extraterrestrials of our age, those of the Eighteenth Century weren’t foreign to humankind; they fit hand in glove with its logics.

Modified Great Chain v1

The Great Chain of Being, that marvelous convenience linking lowest to highest, the dialogues of Plato to the satires of Pope, began as a divine provocation.

Some way into The Iliad, as Greeks and Trojans stood on opposing margins of a blank page, Zeus decided to issue a warning. Any gods who lent their penmanship to mortals would suffer no less a fate than exile. And any attempt to overthrow his authority—to latch a chain to the heavens and drag him down—would be tantamount to folly. He was too powerful to budge.

In fact, with a mere tug of the chain, Zeus threatened to send the rebel gods flying, the carnal world pulled in their wake. The chain could easily become his plaything—a necklace to hang around the peak of Olympus.

Zeus never acted on these words, and his gauntlet grew forgetful, ever less a challenge and ever more a chain. Nature, too, had forgotten: gradually, its kin found shelter in the links, growing accustomed to the altitude and the elliptical life. As moss grows on a rock, so the natural world took to its host, until the two were impossible to distinguish.

Gods came and went, and still the chain kept hanging—no longer the plaything of a boastful god, but the instrument of a wise one. Elizabethans seeking evidence of the Almighty’s plan needed look no further than this object, where everything had a place. The ugliest stone, the poisonous animal, the treacherous snake, and the louse couldn’t be errors of creation, because they all got a link. So too did the beggar and deaf mute have their place in society, provided they stuck to it.

Everything—even angels—got a link, though complex hierarchies abounded. Wild beasts were superior to domesticated ones for their resistance to human training. Avian creatures bested the aquatic, as surely as air’s domain sits above water’s. In the insect realm, the beautiful ladybug ranked nearly as high as the bee, whose kingdom served as social allegory. The chain’s links usually ended well before Hell, lest the sinners attempted to climb.

Man held a special position in this chain. Owing to his wit and will, he stood one link above the beasts, yet in his carnal form, one shy of the angels. By the Eighteenth Century, his position had become thoroughly suspect, for surely the lowliest angel was far superior to man! The scholars found themselves in a quandary: conceding the point would break the chain, and ignoring it bordered on pride. And so, in a prescient act, links were added and planets imagined, home to beings that could bridge the gap. Unlike the extraterrestrials of our age, those of the Eighteenth Century weren’t foreign to humankind; they fit hand in glove with its logics.

Added Great Chain v3

Gods came and went, and still the chain kept hanging—no longer the plaything of a boastful god, but the instrument of a wise one. Elizabethans seeking evidence of the Almighty’s plan needed look no further than this object, where everything had a place. The ugliest stone, the poisonous animal, the treacherous snake, and the louse couldn’t be errors of creation, because they all got a link. So too did the beggar and deaf mute have their place in society, provided they stuck to it.

Everything—even angels—got a link, though complex hierarchies abounded. Wild beasts were superior to domesticated ones for their resistance to human training. Avian creatures bested the aquatic, as surely as air’s domain sits above water’s. In the insect realm, the beautiful ladybug ranked nearly as high as the bee, whose kingdom served as social allegory. The chain’s links usually ended well before Hell, lest the sinners attempted to climb.

Man held a special position in this chain. Owing to his wit and will, he stood one link above the beasts, yet in his carnal form, one shy of the angels. By the Eighteenth Century, his position had become thoroughly suspect, for surely the lowliest angel was far superior to man! The scholars found themselves in a quandary: conceding the point would break the chain, and ignoring it bordered on pride. And so, in a prescient act, links were added and planets imagined, home to beings that could bridge the gap. Unlike the extraterrestrials of our age, those of the Eighteenth Century weren’t foreign to humankind; they fit hand in glove with its logics.

Modified Great Chain v1

The Great Chain of Being, that marvelous convenience linking lowest to highest, the dialogues of Plato to the satires of Pope, began as a divine provocation.

Some way into The Iliad, as Greeks and Trojans stood on opposing margins of a blank page, Zeus decided to issue a warning. Any gods who lent their penmanship to the warmortals would suffer no less a fate than exile. And any attempt to overthrow his authority—to latch a chain to the heavens and drag him down—would be tantamount to folly. He was too powerful to budge.

Moreover, Zeus threatened thatIn fact, with a mere tug of the chain, he couldZeus threatened to send the rebel gods flying, the carnal world pulled in their wake. Their instrumentThe chain could easily become his plaything—a necklace to hang around the peak of Olympus.

Zeus never acted on these words, and his gauntlet grew forgetful of his gauntlet, ever less a challenge and ever more a chain. Nature, too, had forgotten: gradually, its denizenskin found shelter in the links, growing accustomed to the altitude and the elliptical life. As moss grows on a rock, so the natural world took to its host, until the two were impossible to distinguish.

Modified Great Chain v3

Gods came and went, and still the chain kept hanging—no longer the baubleplaything of a boastful god, but the instrument of a wise one. Elizabethans seeking evidence of the Almighty’s plan needed look no further than this object, in whichwhere everything had a place. The ugliest stone, the poisonous animal, the treacherous snake, and the louse could notcouldn’t be errors of creation, because eachthey all got its designateda link. So, too, did the beggar and deaf mute have their place in society, provided they stuck to it.

Everything—even angels— filled the chaingot a link, though complex hierarchies abounded. Wild beasts were superior to domesticated ones for their resistance to human training. Avian creatures bested the aquatic, as surely as air’s domain sits above water’s. In the insect realm, the beautiful ladybug ranked nearly as high as the bee, whose kingdom provided a served as social allegory. The chain’s links usually ended well before Hell, lest the sinners attempted to climb.

Man held a special position in this chain. On account of Owing to his wit and will, he stood one link above the beasts and, yet , owing to in his carnal form, one shy of the angels. By the eighteenth centuryEighteenth Century, his position had become ever morethoroughly suspect, for undoubtedlysurely the lowliest angel was far superior to man! The scholars found themselves in a quandary: conceding the point would break the chain, whileand ignoring it bordered on hubris.pride. And so, in a prescient act, links were added and planets imagined, home to beings that could bridge the gap. Unlike the extraterrestrials of our age, those of the EnlightenmentEighteenth Century weren’t foreign to humankind; they fit hand in glove with its logics

Added Baby v1

What is the face, the figure of humanity—life lived on the 50th percentile? We can’t define the deviant without first inventing the “norm.”

It’s no coincidence that this word came into popular use in the mid-Nineteenth Century, as Adolphe Quetelet generated social statistics, drawn from biological and criminological data, to determine the physical and moral qualities of “the average man.” A preamble to the eugenics movement, this “man” was an empirical fiction who became, at once, more lifelike and less precise with the addition of quantitative information. He was the first of many disciplinary hallucinations to come, culminating, in the later century, with Francis Galton’s composite portraits of the “criminal type.” Layering photographs, Galton claimed, did more than produce averages, providing the equivalent optical information to a large statistical table. The “real generalizations” of Galton’s composites, in other words, revealed faces of true evil as data manifest.

Galton’s fixation on criminality betrayed a larger apprehension about Quetelet, for his “average man” made deviants even of the taller, the smarter, and those of superior moral rectitude. Contemporaneous with his establishment of eugenics, Galton thus reframed Quetelet’s work to emphasize the median over the mean: where one stands in the rank, as opposed to who comprises the average. The “norm” thus became less observed than ideal: an aspiration for social betterment, giving cause to selective breeding.

Added Baby v2.jpg

Added Baby v3

Composite photography went the way of most 19th Century pseudosciences, fading into forgetfulness like the ears, the hair, the facial quirks of its constituent subjects. Nowadays, digital technology allows for a more elaborate hunt on the picture-plane—pixel by painstaking pixel, layer upon infinite layer—but our true measure no longer lies on the surface of the image, but deep in the grain of the self.

In the sequencing of the human genome, we’ve at last moved beyond the “rough draft” of humanity, producing a “standard reference work”—a “‘consensus’ DNA sequence” that, David Serlin notes, is, “like all composites, a fiction.” After all, how can we define the normalcy of a constantly changing genome?

The genomic norm, by purporting genetic explanations for human attributes and behaviors, also implies the possibility of genetic solutions. To claim to be a corrective, Serlin and other disability theorists argue, it must entrench or create the problems.

What is the figure, the future of humanity—life engineered for the 50th percentile? If we gradually assimilate to the genomic norm, we will forgo much more than deviance. As our genetic diversity lessens, vulnerabilities increase: minor viruses will easily grow epidemic large, extinction endgames preying on our lack of divergence. The many routes of human evolution, for that matter, will only grow on the tree of fiction.

Added Baby v4

My baby is a handbag.

Deleted Baby v3

Composite photography went the way of most 19th Century pseudosciences, fading into forgetfulness like the ears, the hair, the facial quirks of its constituent subjects. Nowadays, digital technology allows for a more elaborate hunt on the picture-plane—pixel by painstaking pixel, layer upon infinite layer—but our true measure no longer lies on the surface of the image, but deep in the grain of the self.

In the sequencing of the human genome, we’ve at last moved beyond the “rough draft” of humanity, producing a “standard reference work”—a “‘consensus’ DNA sequence” that, David Serlin notes, is, “like all composites, a fiction.” After all, how can we define the normalcy of a constantly changing genome?

The genomic norm, by purporting genetic explanations for human attributes and behaviors, also implies the possibility of genetic solutions. To claim to be a corrective, Serlin and other disability theorists argue, it must entrench or create the problems.

What is the figure, the future of humanity—life engineered for the 50th percentile? If we gradually assimilate to the genomic norm, we will forgo much more than deviance. As our genetic diversity lessens, vulnerabilities increase: minor viruses will easily grow epidemic large, extinction endgames preying on our lack of divergence. The many routes of human evolution, for that matter, will only grow on the tree of fiction.

Modified Baby v1

What is the face, the figure of humanity—life lived on the 50th percentile? We can’t define the deviant without first inventing the “norm.”

It’s no coincidence that this word came into popular use in the mid-Nineteenth Century, as Adolphe Quetelet generated social statistics, drawn from biological and criminological data, to determine the physical and moral qualities of “the average man.” A preamble to the eugenics movement, this “man” was an empirical fiction who became, at once, more lifelike and less precise with the addition of quantitative information. He was the first of many disciplinary hallucinations to come, culminating, in the later century, with Francis Galton’s composite portraits of the “criminal type.” Layering photographs, Galton claimed, did more than produce averages, providing the equivalent optical information to a large statistical table. The “real generalizations” of Galton’s composites, in other words, revealed faces of true evil as data manifest.

Galton’s fixation on criminality betrayed a larger apprehension about Quetelet, for his “average man” made deviants even of the taller, the smarter, and those of superior moral rectitude. Contemporaneous with his establishment of eugenics, Galton thus reframed Quetelet’s work to emphasize the median over the mean: where one stands in the rank, as opposed to who comprises the average. The “norm” thus became less observed than ideal: an aspiration for social betterment, giving cause to selective breeding.

Composite photography went the way of most 19th Century pseudosciences, fading into forgetfulness like the ears, the hair, the facial quirks of its constituent subjects. Nowadays, digital technology allows for a more elaborate hunt on the picture-plane—pixel by painstaking pixel, layer upon infinite layer—but our true measure no longer lies on the surface of the image, but deep in the grain of the self.

In the sequencing of the human genome, we’ve at last moved beyond the “rough draft” of humanity, producing a “standard reference work”—a “‘consensus’ DNA sequence” that, David Serlin notes, is, “like all composites, a fiction.” After all, how can we define the normalcy of a constantly changing genome?

The genomic norm, by purporting genetic explanations for human attributes and behaviors, also implies the possibility of genetic solutions. To claim to be a corrective, Serlin and other disability theorists argue, it must entrench or create the problems.

What is the figure, the future of humanity—life engineered for the 50th percentile? If we gradually assimilate to the genomic norm, we will forgo much more than deviance. As our genetic diversity lessens, vulnerabilities increase: minor viruses will easily grow epidemic large, extinction endgames preying on our lack of divergence. The many routes of human evolution, for that matter, will only grow on the tree of fiction.

Modified Baby v1

What is the face, the figure of humanity—life lived on the 50th percentile? We can’t define the deviant without first inventing the “norm.”

This concept gained prominenceIt’s no coincidence that this word came into popular use in the mid-Nineteenth Century, as Adolphe Quetelet generated social statistics, drawn from biological and criminological data, to determine the physical and moral qualities of “the average man.” A preamble to the eugenics movement, this “man” was an empirical fiction who became, at once, more lifelike yetand less precise with the addition of quantitative information. He was the first of many disciplinary hallucinations to come, culminating, in the later century, with Francis Galton’s composite portraits of the “criminal type.” Layering photographs, Galton claimed, did more than produce averages, providing the equivalent optical information to a large statistical table. The “real generalizations” of Galton’s composites, in other words, revealed faces of true evil as data manifest.

He was the first of many hallucinations to come, culminating, later that century, with Francis Galton’s portraits of the “criminal type.” Composite photographs, in Galton’s estimation, were the optical equivalents to large statistical tables; these “real generalizations” showed the faces of true evil to be data manifest.

Whatever its efficacy, “the fixation on criminality betrayed a larger apprehension about Quetelet, for his “ average man” made skeptics of people like Galton, in implying that deviants even of the taller, the smarter, and the morallythose of superior also deviated from the norm. moral rectitude. Contemporaneous with his establishment of eugenics, Galton thus reframed Quetelet’s work to emphasize the median over the mean: where one stands in the rank, notas opposed to who comprises the average. The “norm” herethus became less observed than ideal: an aspiration for social betterment, giving cause to selective breeding.

Composite photography went the way of most 19th Century pseudosciences, fading into forgetfulness like the ears, the hair, the facial quirks of its constituent subjects. ConceivablyNowadays, digital technology would herald its return—allows for a more elaborate hunt on the picture-plane—pixel by painstaking pixel, layer byupon infinite layer— thoughbut our true measure can no longer be foundlies on the picture-planesurface of the image, but deep in the grain of the self.

In the sequencing of the human genome, we’ve at last moved beyond the “rough draft” of humanity, producing a “standard reference work”—a “‘consensus’ DNA sequence,”” that, David Serlin writes, that’snotes, is, “like all composites, a fiction.”

After all, how can we define the normalcy of a constantly changing genome?

The genomic norm purports, by purporting genetic explanations for human attributes and behaviors; it, also implies the possibility of genetic solutions. To claim to be a corrective, Serlin and other disability theorists argue, it must entrench or create the problems.

What is the figure, the future of humanity—life engineered for the 50th percentile? In assimilatingIf we gradually assimilate to the genomic norm, we’llwe will forgo much more than deviance. OurAs our genetic diversity will lessen, and our lessens, vulnerabilities increase: minor viruses growing towill easily grow epidemic proportionslarge, extinction endgames preying on our lack of divergence. The many routes of human evolution can take may, for that matter, will only grow on the tree of fiction.

Modified Baby v1

What is the face, the figure of humanity—life lived on the 50th percentile? We can’t define the deviant without first inventing the “norm.”

This concept gained prominence in the mid-Nineteenth Century, as Adolphe Quetelet generated social statistics, drawn from biological and criminological data, to determine the physical and moral qualities of “the average man.” A preamble to the eugenics movement, this “man” was an empirical fiction who became more lifelike yet less precise with the addition of quantitative information.

Quetelet’s modelHe was the first of many hallucinations to come, culminating, later that century, with Francis Galton’s portraits of the “criminal type.” Composite photographs, in Galton’s estimation, were the optical equivalents to large statistical tables; these “real generalizations” showed the faces of true evil to be data manifest.

Whatever its efficacy, “the average man” made skeptics of people like Francis Galton, in implying that the taller, the smarter, and the morally superior also deviated from the norm. Galton’s revision emphasizedGalton thus reframed Quetelet’s work to emphasize the median over the mean, or: where one stands in the rank, not who comprises the average. The “norm” here became less observed than ideal: an aspiration for social betterment, giving cause to selective breeding.

“The average man” was the first of the century’s many hallucinations, culminating with Galton’s attempt to visualize the biological aspects of the “criminal type.” The resulting images, composited from [quantity?] unique portraits, claimed to be the optical equivalents of large statistical tables. They showed the faces of true evil as data manifest.

Composite photography went the way of many Nineteenthmost 19th Century pseudosciences, growing as obscure asfading into forgetfulness like the ears and, the hair, the facial quirks of its subjects. Nowadays, though Conceivably, digital technology can intensify this technique—pixel by pixel, would herald its return—layer uponby infinite layer—thoughour norms true measure can no longer livebe found on the surfaces of imagespicture-plane, but deep in the grain of the self.

In sequencing the human genome, we’ve at last moved beyond the “rough draft” of humanity, producing a “‘consensus’ DNA sequence,” David Serlin writes, that’s “like all composites, a fiction.” What, after all, defines the normalcy of a constantly changing genome?

GenomicsAfter all, how can we define the normalcy of a constantly changing genome? The genomic norm purports genetic explanations for ourhuman attributes and behaviors; it also implies genetic solutions. As we continueTo claim to sequence and patent our genes, the scope of deviation, be a corrective, it must entrench or create the errors in need of correction, will likely only increase.problems.

What is the figure, the future of humanity—life engineered for the 50th percentile? In assimilating to the genomic norm, we’ll forgo much more than deviance. As ourOur genetic diversity lessens,will lessen, and our vulnerabilities increase: minor viruses growing to epidemic proportions, extinction endgames preying on our lack of divergence. The tree will be clipped, stripped and cut, in memorium [correct?] to something that no one can rememberThe many routes human evolution can take may only grow on the tree of fiction.

Modified Baby v1

What is the face, the figure of humanity—life lived on the 50th percentile? We can’t define the deviant without first inventing the “norm.”

This concept became a social sciencegained prominence in the mid-Nineteenth Century, as Adolphe Quetelet generated social statistics, drawn from biological and criminological data, to determine the physical and moral qualities of “the average man.” A preamble to the eugenics movement, this “man” was an empirical fiction who became more lifelike yet less precise with the addition of quantitative information.

Quetelet’s model made skeptics of people like Francis Galton, in implying that the taller, the smarter, and the morally superior also deviated from the norm. Galton’s revision emphasized the median over the mean, or where one stands in the rank, not who comprises the average. The norm here became less observed than ideal: an aspiration for social betterment, giving cause to selective breeding.

“The average man” was the first of the century’s many hallucinations, culminating with Galton’s attempt to visualize the biological aspects of the “criminal type.” The resulting images, composited from multiple[quantity?] unique portraits, claimed to be the optical equivalents of large statistical tables. They showed the faces of true evil as data manifest.

Composite photography went the way of many Nineteenth Century pseudosciences, growing as obscure as the ears and hair of its subjects. Nowadays, though digital technology can intensify this technique—pixel by pixel, layer upon infinite layer—our norms no longer live on the surfaces of images, but deep in the grain of the self.

Thanks to The Human Genome ProjectIn sequencing the human genome, we’ve at last moved beyond the “rough draft” of humanity, producing a “‘consensus’ DNA sequence,” David Serlin writes, that’s “like all composites, a fiction.” What, after all, defines the normalcy of a constantly changing genome?

By sequencing and patenting our genes, we may be following in the footsteps of Quetelet: refining the figure of “the average man,” observing the scope of deviation. Engineering the perfect human, however, requires a leap in Galton’s direction. Just as Galton needed to rework Quetelet’s model, in justifying eugenic practices, so too must genetics shift from merely “explaining” our attributes and behaviors, to editing and improving a corrupt human genome.
Genomics purports genetic explanations for our attributes and behaviors; it also implies genetic solutions. As we continue to sequence and patent our genes, the scope of deviation, the errors in need of correction, will likely only increase.

What is the figure, the future of humanity—life engineered for the 50th percentile? In assimilating to the genomic norm, we’ll forgo much more than deviance. As our genetic diversity lessens, vulnerabilities increase: minor viruses growing to epidemic proportions, extinction endgames preying on our lack of divergence. The tree will be clipped, stripped and cut, memorializingin memorium [correct?] to something we’ve forgotten tothat no one can remember.

Modified Baby v4

My baby is a handbag.Do you like my designer handbag?

Added Baby v5

Do you like my designer baby?

Added Baby v6

My baby is a handbag.

Modified Baby v1

What is the face, the figure of humanity—life lived on the 50th percentile? We can’t define the deviant without first inventing the “norm.”

This concept joined thebecame a social sciences in the mid-Nineteenth Century, as Adolphe Quetelet generated statistics, drawn from biological and criminological data, to determine the physical and moral qualities of “the average man.” A preamble to the eugenics movement, this “man” was an empirical fiction who grewbecame more lifelike yet less precise with the addition of quantitative information.

Quetelet’s model made skeptics of people like Francis Galton, in implying that the taller, the smarter, and the morally superior also deviated from the norm. Galton’s revision emphasized the median over the mean, or where one stands in the rank, not who comprises the average. The norm here became less observed than ideal: an aspiration for social betterment, giving cause to selective breeding.

“The average man” was the first of the century’s many hallucinations, culminating with Galton’s attempt to visualize the biological aspects of the “criminal type.” The resulting images, composited from multiple unique portraits, were deemedclaimed to be the optical equivalents of large statistical tables. They showed the faces of true evil as data manifest.

Composite photography went the way of many Nineteenth Century pseudosciences, growing as obscure as the hair and ears of its subjects. Nowadays, though digital technology can intensify this technique—pixel by pixel, layer upon infinite layer—the norm no longer lives on the surface of images, but deep in the grain of the self.

Thanks to The Human Genome Project, we’ve at last moved beyond the “rough draft” of humanity, producing a “‘consensus’ DNA sequence,” David Serlin writes, that’s “like all composites, a fiction.” What, after all, defines the normalcy of a constantly changing genome?

By sequencing and patenting our genes, we follow in the footsteps of Quetelet: adding data to “the average man,” observing the scope of deviation. Engineering the perfect human, however, requires a leap in Galton’s direction. Just as Galton had to rework Quetelet’s model, in justifying eugenic practices, so too must genetics move beyond plotting and “explaining” our genome, to improving its every last fault.

What is the figure, the future of humanity—life engineered for the 50th percentile? In assimilating to the genomic norm, we’ll forgo much more than deviance. Genetic diversity will lessen, and vulnerabilities increase: minor viruses that grow to epidemic proportions, extinction endgames that prey on our lack of divergence. The tree could be clipped, stripped and cut, memorializing something we’ve forgotten to remember.

Added Baby v3

Composite photography went the way of many Nineteenth Century pseudosciences, growing as obscure as the hair and ears of its subjects. Nowadays, though digital technology can intensify this technique—pixel by pixel, layer upon infinite layer—the norm no longer lives on the surface of images, but deep in the grain of the self.

Thanks to The Human Genome Project, we’ve at last moved beyond the “rough draft” of humanity, producing a “‘consensus’ DNA sequence,” David Serlin writes, that’s “like all composites, a fiction.” What, after all, defines the normalcy of a constantly changing genome?

By sequencing and patenting our genes, we follow in the footsteps of Quetelet: adding data to “the average man,” observing the scope of deviation. Engineering the perfect human, however, requires a leap in Galton’s direction. Just as Galton had to rework Quetelet’s model, in justifying eugenic practices, so too must genetics move beyond plotting and “explaining” our genome, to improving its every last fault.

What is the figure, the future of humanity—life engineered for the 50th percentile? In assimilating to the genomic norm, we’ll forgo much more than deviance. Genetic diversity will lessen, and vulnerabilities increase: minor viruses that grow to epidemic proportions, extinction endgames that prey on our lack of divergence. The tree could be clipped, stripped and cut, memorializing something we’ve forgotten to remember.

Modified Baby v3

Composite photography went the way of many Nineteenth Century pseudosciences, growing as obscure as the hairears and earshair of its subjects. Nowadays, though digital technology can intensify this technique—pixel by pixel, layer upon infinite layer—our normsthe norm no longer lives on the surfaces of images, but deep in the grain of the self.

Thanks to The Human Genome Project, we’ve at last moved beyond the “rough draft” of humanity, producing a “‘consensus’ DNA sequence,” David Serlin writes, that’s “like all composites, a fiction.” What, after all, defines the normalcy of a constantly changing genome?

By sequencing and patenting our genes, we followmay be following in the footsteps of Quetelet: adding data torefining the figure of “the average man,” observing the scope of deviation. Engineering the perfect human, however, requires a leap in Galton’s direction. Just as Galton hadneeded to rework Quetelet’s model, in justifying eugenic practices, so too must genetics move beyond plotting and shift from merely “explaining” our genomeattributes and behaviors, to editing and improving its every last faulta corrupt human genome.

What is the figure, the future of humanity—life engineered for the 50th percentile? In assimilating to the genomic norm, we’ll forgo much more than deviance. GeneticAs our genetic diversity will lessen, andlessens, vulnerabilities increase: minor viruses that growgrowing to epidemic proportions, extinction endgames that preypreying on our lack of divergence. The tree couldwill be clipped, stripped and cut, memorializing something we’ve forgotten to remember.

Modified Baby v4

My baby is a handbag.Do you like my designer handbag?

Deleted Baby v5

Do you like my designer baby?

Deleted Baby v6

My baby is a handbag.

Modified Baby v1

What is the face, the figure of humanity—life lived on the 50th percentile? We can’t define the deviant without first inventing the “norm.”

This concept joined the social sciences, in the mid-Nineteenth Centurynineteenth century, through the work of as Adolphe Quetelet generated statistics, dwrawn from . Drawing on biological and criminological data, the statistician sought to determine the physical and moral qualities of “the average man.” A preamble toharbinger of the eugenics movement, this “man” was an empirical fiction who grew less lifelike and more lifelike yet less precise despitewith the addition of quantitative information.

Quetelet’s model made skeptics of people like Francis Galton, in impyingbecause it implied that the taller, the smarter, and the morally superior individuals also deviated from the norm. Galton's revisionGalton responded by devising his own model, one that emphasized the median over the mean, or in other words, where one standsstood in the rank, not who comprisescomprised the average. The norm here became less observed than ideal: an aspiration for social betterment,giving cause to that gave cause for selective breeding.

“The average man” was the first of the century’s many hallucinations, culminating with Galton’s attempt to visualize the biological aspects of the “criminal type.” The resulting images, composited from multiple unique portraitsphotographs of unique individuals, were deemed to be thereceived at the time as optical equivalents of large statistical tables. They showed the faces of true evil asto be data manifest.

Modified Baby v3

Composite photography went the way of many Nineteenth Centurynineteenth-century pseudosciences, growing as obscure as the hair and ears of its subjects. Nowadays, though digital technology can intensify this technique—pixel by pixel, layer upon infinite layer—the norm no longer lives on the surface of images, but deep in the grain of the self.

Thanks to The Human Genome Project, we’ve at last moved beyondrevised the “rough draft” of humanity, producing a “‘consensus’” DNA sequence that, David Serlin writes, that'squalifies, is, “like all composites, a fiction.” What, after all, defines the normancynormality of a constantly changing genome in constant change?

By sequencing and patenting our genes, we follow in the footsteps of Quetelet: adding data to “the average man,” observing the scope of deviation. Engineering the perfect human, however, requires a leap in Galton’s direction. Just as Galton had to rework Quetelet’s model, in justifying eugenic practices, so too must genetics move beyond plottingdo more than plot and explaining“explain” our genome, by claiming the authority to improvingimprove its every last fault.

What is the figure, the future of humanity—life engineered for the 50th percentile? In assimilating to the genomic norm, we’ll forgo much more than deviance. Genetic diversity will lessen, and vulnerabilities increase: minor viruses that grow to epidemic proportions, endgames that prey on our lack of divergence. The tree could be clipped, stripped of its branches and cut leaves, will memorialize,memorializing something we’ve forgotten to remember.

Added Quaddie v1

“Quaddie” is a racist term awaiting political correction, but how else to describe four-armed workers engineered for free fall environments?

The Quaddies are the legal property of a mining company. As “post-fetal experimental tissue cultures,” they’re too many rungs down Aristotle’s ladder to share human rights and protections.

A Quaddie body is bottom-heavy, the lower arms bowed and muscled. It’s what you get when you put a chimpanzee on a horse, then remove the horse.

Modified Quaddie v1

“Quaddie” is a racist term awaiting political correction, but how else to describe four-armed workers genetically engineered for free fall environments?

The Quaddies are the legal property of a mining company. As “post-fetal experimental tissue cultures,” they’re too many linksrungs down the Great ChainAristotle’s ladder to share human rights and protections.

A Quaddie body is bottom-heavy, the lower arms bowed and muscled.: thin hips atop massive glutes. The lower arms are bowed and muscled, the wrists are thick, the digits are squat. It’s what you get when you put a chimpanzee on a horse, then remove the horse.

Modified Quaddie v1

“Quaddie” is a racist term awaiting political correction, but how else should weto describe the four-armed workers genetically engineered for free fall environments?

The Quaddies are the legal property of a mining company. As “post-fetal experimental tissue cultures,” they’re too many links down the Great Chain to share human rights and protections.

A Quaddie body is bottom-heavy: thin hips atop massive glutes. The lower arms are bowed and muscled, the wrists thick, the digits squat. It’s what you get when you put a chimpanzee on a horse, then remove the horse.

Added Seat v1

Once, for practical reasons, the heating systems of art museums found lodging in their sofas. The ottoman of the Louvre’s Salon Carré—that infamous object from Henry James’s The American, where the art of seduction was ever on display—contained a coal grate, for example, to keep bodies and passions inflamed. In warmer seasons, when the libido can more or less heat itself, such seats became park benches: as much the resting stops for “aesthetic headaches” as for wearied amblers and would-be picnickers.

The modern museum, on the contrary, is decidedly less commodious. Like art goers of yore, we do chance across the sublime artwork or two, stumbling (step by Stendhal step) back in disbelief. Yet rarely are our swoons caught by plush upholstery. A wooden bench might break our fall, or a daybed on holiday from its analyst. More often than not, we hit the floor.

To Joel Sanders and Diana Fuss, shifts in institutional furniture privilege disembodied spectators, peculiar types of humans comprising two eyeballs, a brain, and the hot air to keep them buoyant. Darlings of the philosophers, the Joneses of museums, they set the art world trends. When MoMA opened its doors in 1939, for example, our ideal viewers no longer circumnavigated the galleries in search of moral education, but flowed from one room to the next, consuming the aesthetic goods on offer.

Set against this marvelous circulation, the museum seat appeared increasingly lost—a relic of the time when a body could suffer the exhaustion, an eye the inattention, a human the aesthetic labor that it uniquely relieved. The first MoMA benches came with backs, but those would disappear in little time, for the bodies they sought to accommodate were, in fact, not bodies at all.

Nowadays, a few museums in the world carry new types of seats, as uncomfortable as MoMA’s ascetic units, albeit for very different reasons. Ergonomically designed for imagined future bodies, yet free for contemporary use, this furniture prescribes corporeal norms that no living human can fit. And so they’ll wait, like the museums themselves, until the right bodies come along to fill them…

Added Seat v2.jpg

Modified Seat v1

Once, for practical reasons, the heating systems of art museums found lodging in their sofas. The ottoman of the Louvre’s Salon Carré—that infamous object from Henry James’s The American, where the art of seduction was ever on display—contained a coal grate, for example, to keep bodies and passions inflamed. In warmer seasons, when the libido can more or less heat itself, such seats became park benches: as much the resting stops for “aesthetic headaches” as for wearied amblers and would-be picnickers.

The modern museum, howeveron the contrary, is decidedly less commodious. We stillLike art goers of yore, we do chance upon aacross the sublime artwork from time to time, then stumbleor two, stumbling (step by Stendhal step) ~~back in disbelief., y Yet rarely are our Stendhal swoons caught by plush upholstery. A wooden bench might break theour~~ fall, or a daybed on holiday from its analyst. More often than not, we hit the floor.

To Joel Sanders and Diana Fuss, this shiftshifts in institutional furniture privileges disembodied spectators, peculiar types of humans comprising two eyeballs, a brain, and the hot air to keep them buoyant. Darlings of the philosophers, the Joneses of museums, they set the art world trends. When MoMA opened its doors in 1939, for example, theour ideal viewers no longer circumnavigated the galleries in search of moral education, but flowed from one room to the next, as if moving through a department storeconsuming the aesthetic goods on offer.

AmidstSet against this marvelous circulation, the museum seat appeared increasingly lost—a relic of the time when a body could suffer the exhaustion, an eye the inattention, a human the aesthetic labor that it uniquely relieved. The first MoMA benches came with backs, but those would disappear in little time, for the bodies they sought to accommodate were, in fact, not bodies at all.

Nowadays, a few museums in the world carry new types of seats, as uncomfortable as MoMA’s ascetic units, albeit for a very different causereasons. Ergonomically designed for imagined future bodies, yet free for contemporary use, the seats prescribethis furniture prescribes corporeal norms that no living human can fit. And so they’ll wait, like the museums themselves, until the right bodies come along to fill them…

Modified Seat v1

Once, for practical reasons, the heating systems of museums found lodging in their sofas. The ottoman of the Louvre’s Salon Carré—that infamous object from Henry James’s The American, where the art of seduction was ever on display—contained a coal grate to keep bodies and passions inflamed. In warmer seasons, when the libido can more or less heat itself, such seats became park benches: as much the resting stops for “aesthetic headaches” as for wearied amblers and would-be picnickers.

Our contemporaryThe modern museummuseums, however, areis decidedly less commodious. We still chance upon a sublime artwork from time to time, then stumble back in disbelief, yet rarely are our Stendhal swoons caught by plush upholstery. A wooden bench might break the fall, or a daybed on holiday from its analyst. More often than not, we hit the floor.

The museum seat is one To Joel Sanders and Diana Fuss, this shift in a constellation of display structures: an ideological apparatus that has come to privilege the so-called “ institutional furniture privileges disembodied ” spectator. This spectators, peculiar human,types of humans comprising merely two eyeballs and, a brain, began haunting and the hot air to keep them buoyant. Darlings of philosophers, the Joneses of museums as early as the mid-Nineteenth Century. For example, Joel Sanders and Diana Fuss have traced the seating of London’s National Gallery, which began in a private residence in the early century, where furniture could be moved at the viewer’s discretion, and relocated to the heart of London in mid-century, lacking all but a few of its chairs. An engraving of the era depicts viewers familiarizing themselves with the new norm;, they stand, they look, and they contemplate.

Byset the timeart world trends. When MoMA opened its doors in 1939, the spectator had transformed yet again,for example, the ideal viewer no longer soft-shoeing circumnavigated the galleries in search of moral education, but flowing through the galleries like a shopperflowed from one room to the next, as if moving through a department store.e . Amidst this marvelous circulation, the museum seat appeared increasingly lost, —a relic of the time when a body could suffer the exhaustion, an eye the inattention, a human the aesthetic labor that it uniquely relieved. The first MoMA benches came with backs, but those would disappear soon after, reducing the museum seat to a signpost for significant artwork—an entreaty to give a little more from our shrinking attentional wallets.in little time, for the bodies they sought to accommodate were, in fact, not bodies at all.

Nowadays, a few museums in the world carry new types of seats, as uncomfortable as MoMA’s ascetic units, albeit for a very different reasoncause. Ergonomically designed for future bodies, and availableyet free for contemporary use, theythe seats prescribe corporeal norms that no living human can fit. And so they’ll wait, like the museums themselves, until the right bodies come along to fill them…

Modified Seat v1

Once, for practical reasons, the heating systems of museums found lodging in their sofas. The ottoman of the Louvre’s Salon Carré—that infamous object from Henry James’s The American, where the art of seduction was ever on display—contained a coal grate to keep bodies and passions inflamed. In warmer seasons, when the libido can more or less heat itself, such seats became park benches: as much the resting stops for “aesthetic headaches” as for wearied amblers and would-be picnickers.

Our contemporary museums, in contrasthowever, are decidedly less commodious. We still chance upon a sublime artwork from time to time, then stumble back in disbelief, yet rarely are our Stendhal swoons caught by plush upholstery. A wooden bench might break ourthe fall, or a daybed on holiday from its analyst. More often than not, we hit the floor.

The museum seat is one in a constellation of display structures: an ideological apparatus that increasingly caterhas come to privilege the so-called “disembodied” spectator. This peculiar human, comprising merely two eyeballs and a brain, began haunting museums as early as the mid-Nineteenth Century —and prompting shifts in institutional design. For example, ~~Joel Sanders and Diana Fuss have traced the seating of London’s National Gallery , for example, which began in a private residence in the early century, where furniture could be moved at the viewer’s discretion, thenand~~ relocated to the heart of the cityLondon in mid-century, lacking all but a few of its chairs. An engraving of the era depicts viewers familiarizing themselves with the new norm; they stand, they look, and they contemplate.

By the time MoMA opened its doors in 1939, the “disembodied” spectator had assumed modern airstransformed yet again, no longer soft-shoeing in search of moral education, but flowing through the galleries like a shopper through a department store. Amidst this marvelous circulation, the museum seat appeared increasingly lost:, a relic of the time when a body could suffer the exhaustion, an eye the straininattention, a human the aesthetic labor that it uniquely relieved. The first MoMA benches came with backs, but those would disappear soon after, reducing the museum seat to a signpost for significant artwork—an entreaty to give a little more from our shrinking attentional wallets.

Nowadays, a few museums in the world carry new types of seats, as uncomfortable as MoMA’s ascetic units, albeit for a very different reason. Ergonomically designed for future bodies, and available for use, they prescribe corporeal norms that no living human can fit. And so they’ll wait, like the museums themselves, until the right bodies come along to fill them…

Modified Seat v1

Once, for practical reasons, the heating systems of museums found lodging in their sofas. The ottoman of the Louvre’s Salon Carré—that infamous object from Henry James’s The American, where the art of seduction was ever on display—contained a coal grate to keep bodies and passions inflamed. In warmer seasons, when the libido can more or less heat itself, such seats became park benches: as much the resting stops for “aesthetic headaches” as for wearied amblers and would-be picnickers.

Our contemporary museums, in contrast, are decidedly less commodious. We still chance upon a sublime artwork from time to time, then stumble back in disbelief, yet rarely are our Stendhal swoons caught by plush upholstery. A wooden bench might break our fall, or a daybed on holiday from its analyst. More often than not, we hit the floor.

The museum seat is one in a constellation of display structures that increasingly cater to the “disembodied” spectator. This peculiar human, comprising merely two eyeballs and a brain, began haunting museums as early as the mid-Nineteenth Century—and prompting shifts in institutional design. Joel Sanders and Diana Fuss have traced the seating of London’s National Gallery, for example, which began in a private residence in the early century, where furniture could be moved at the viewer’s discretion, then relocated to the heart of the city in mid-century, lacking all but a few of its chairs. An engraving of the era depicts viewers familiarizing themselves with the new norm; they stand, they look, and they contemplate.

By the time MoMA opened its doors in 1939, the “disembodied” spectator had assumed modern airs, no longer soft-shoeing in search of moral education, but flowing through the galleries like a shopper through a department store. Amidst this marvelous circulation, the museum seat appeared increasingly lost: a relic of the time when a body could suffer the exhaustion, an eye the strain that it uniquely relieved. The first MoMA benches came with backs, but those would disappear soon after, reducing the museum seat to a signpost for significant artwork—an entreaty to give a little more from our shrinking attentional wallets.

Nowadays, a few museums in the world carry new types of seats, as uncomfortable as MoMA’s ascetic units, albeit for a very different reason. Ergonomically designed for future bodies, they prescribe corporeal norms that no living human can fit. And so they’ll wait, like the museums themselves, until the right bodies come along to fill them…

Added Seat v3

Nowadays, a few museums in the world carry new types of seats, as uncomfortable as MoMA’s ascetic units, albeit for a very different reason. Ergonomically designed for future bodies, they prescribe corporeal norms that no living human can fit. And so they’ll wait, like the museums themselves, until the right bodies come along to fill them…

Modified Seat v1

At one timeOnce, for practical reasons, the heating systems of museums found lodging in their sofas. The ottoman of the Louvre’s Salon Carré—that infamous object from Henry James’s The American, where the art of seduction was ever on display—contained a coal grate to keep bodies and passions inflamed. In warmer seasons, when the libido can more or less heat itself, such seats became park benches: as much the resting stops for “aesthetic headaches” as much as for wearied amblers and would-be picnickers.

Contemporary museumsOur contemporary museums, in contrast, are decidedly less commodious. We still chance upon a sublime artwork from time to time, then stumble back in disbelief, yet rarely are our Stendhal swoons caught by plush upholstery. A wooden bench might break our fall, or a daybed on holiday from its analyst. More often than not, we hit the floor.

The museum seat is one in a constellation of display structures that increasingly cater to the “disembodied” spectator. This peculiar human, comprising merely two eyeballs and a brain, began haunting museums as early as the mid- nineteenth centuryNineteenth Century—and prompting shifts in institutional design. Joel Sanders and Diana Fuss have traced the seating of London’s National Gallery, for example, which began in a private residence in the early century, where furniture could be moved at the viewer’s discretion. However, once the Gallery, then~~ relocated to the heart of the city, only in mid-century, lacking all but a few of its chairs remained, implicitly fixed in their positions. An engraving of the era depicts viewers familiarizing themselves with the new norm; they stand, they look, and they contemplate.

By the time MoMA opened its doors in 1939, the “disembodied” spectator had assumed modern airs, no longer soft-shoeing in search of moral education, but flowing through the galleries like a shopper through a department store. Amidst this marvelous circulation, the museum seat appeared increasingly lost: a relic of the time when a body could suffer the exhaustion, an eye the strain, that it uniquely relieved. The first MoMA benches came with backs, but those would disappear soon after, reducing the museum seat to a signpost for significant artwork—an entreaty to give a little more from our shrinking attentional wallets.

Modified Seat v3

Nowadays, a few museums in the world carry new types of seats, as uncomfortable as MoMA’s ascetic units, albeit for a very different reason. Ergonomically designed for future bodies, they prescribe corporeal norms that no living human can fit. And so they’ll wait, like the museums themselves, until thesethe right bodies come along to fill them…