Another Sad Young Man on a Train
thinking about 'Universal Sentience' and the secret life of iron, that ghost in the machine, or A.I. even...
"And he answered and said unto them, I tell you that, if these should hold their peace, the stones would immediately cry out."
_Luke 19:40
He always loved that biblical verse, though he wasn't religious, or for that matter did not believe in God at all.
He loved, and respected, the idea of the rocks, stones, pebbles, or sand crying out, of the train crying out even, as it disgorged its indigestible, yet sustaining, effluvia, those of us known as passengers.
By his reckoning, there was some wisdom there, in that verse.
He couldn't help but wonder if it would still be considered anthropomorphism when it was a Giant Silverfish attributing silverfish characteristics to everything around him/her/them, like humans do.
He wondered if rocks anthropomorphised similarly. He suspected they might.
He wasn't really sad, more contemplative. Train journeys seemed to do that to him.
It occurred to him that if dust could breed, wood could sing, and rocks could cry out, atoms could Dervish dance even, then life might be in a constant state of celebrating itself.
He liked sitting still whilst watching life rush past outside this iron beast.
It was Sunday again, another week had flown by, that infinite record of 'young' becoming beautifully, and infinitely, 'old'.
Begin again, that blinding unstoppableness, begin relentlessly even, he thought, as if just wanting it could spur it into being.
Another Sad Young Man on a Train
thinking about 'Universal Sentience' and the secret life of iron, that ghost in the machine, or A.I. even...
"And he answered and said unto them, I tell you that, if these should hold their peace, the stones would immediately cry out."
_Luke 19:40
He always loved that biblical verse, though he wasn't religious, or for that matter did not believe in God at all.
He loved, and respected, the idea of the rocks, stones, pebbles, or sand crying out, of the train crying out even, as it disgorged its indigestible, yet sustaining, effluvia, those of us known as passengers.
By his reckoning, there was some wisdom there, in that verse.
He couldn't help but wonder if it would still be considered anthropomorphism when it was a Giant Silverfish attributing silverfish characteristics to everything around him/her/them, like humans do.
He wondered if rocks anthropomorphised similarly. He suspected they might.
He wasn't really sad, more contemplative. Train journeys seemed to do that to him.
It occurred to him that if dust could breed, wood could sing, and rocks could cry out, atoms could Dervish dance even, then life might be in a constant state of celebrating itself.
He liked sitting still whilst watching life rush past outside this iron beast.
It was Sunday again, another week had flown by, that infinite record of 'young' becoming beautifully, and infinitely, 'old'.
Begin again, that blinding unstoppableness, begin relentlessly even, he thought, as if just wanting it could spur it into being.