Le blog de mcournoyea
Our trans-human futures; our post-human pasts.
Dreams tangled by wires, the transhuman subject is wrapped in a promise: a promise of technological infallibility and inevitable progress. And so the neofuturists proclaim. Such optimisms are crisp and sure, marketed to the priveleged and powerful. Promises sold like catholic indulgences to assuage our guilt of a growing world and a distancing humanity.
Synthetic mythologies.
Gilles Bibeau (2011) reminds us to step down from the altar of genomythology: the dominance of The Gene, fearless flight into a technocratic future, biologist Supermen that save the world.
Splice my magnetic poetry: Hopeful Monsters Dream Furiously.
(So let us go then, you and I,
When the scientists no longer ask us why.)
Like magnetic poetry,
strung together: sticky ends,
that even biologists cannot buy.
We have forgotten to be playful:
wax our poetic biologies,
sculpt our plasticine bodies,
throw our proteomes carelessly into the wind.
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