2066 – 10 Days On

Record date 20660831

Ten days since I last recorded anything.  Strange, it doesn’t feel like ten days.  It doesn’t feel like anything at all.  Time has lost all meaning.  I had to ask the screen what day of the week it was.  The time and date in the left corner has lost all relevance to me.  Even the time of day has no meaning here in this subterranean mind-factory, where we are daily pummelled (I suspect there are others, but am allowed no contact) into shape.  Or what their computers tell them is the shape we are needed to assume in order to be receptive to the conjoining.  I have a strong suspicion that all this energy; these sessions in the gym, the hours slowly turning in the g-pod, and even the mental questions are all a waste of time.  Your brain is either going to conjoin or it isn’t.  It could all be down more to luck than judgement anyway, though we must never say that must we.  The very notion of luck is rapidly being excised from our experience.  Everything is planned, everything is predicted; there is no such thing as fate.  We used to laugh at the Muslims, who said that everything, every action we humans took was pre-ordained by their omniscient God.  And now what do we find?  Hey presto, everything we humans think we are in control of has already been thought of, predicted, weighed in the balance and deliberated on by our new gods, the Hypercom.

It is only a couple of weeks away now, my conjoining.  Well my first conjoining, because it is going to be in three stages.  Apparently.  Two weeks until the old Janek disappears and a new Janek emerges.  Like a butterfly from the chrysalis of the old me, I am expected to emerge, dew-fresh and unable at first to open my wings at all.  But soon I will be able to fly, though hopefully my life will not be as short-lived as those poor insects we are so desperately attempting to emulate.  I am strangely un-scared, complacent almost, resigned I would say.  Peacefully resigned.  And I am prone to moods of reflection, now that I am approaching my ‘re-birth’, my new existence, because I will be saying goodbye to the old me, as well as hopefully welcoming the new, computer-enhanced, me.

Irony of ironies, I am about to become one, well a demi-god maybe.  Although I very much doubt if anyone will be worshipping at my altar.  On your knees priestess, now open that pretty little mouth of yours and receive some wisdom.  Straight from the source…hahaha.   I must say, I am getting quite attached to this new syn machine, but they won’t let me use it privately.  Strictly for procreation is the mantra of these new ‘select’ handmaidens, as they wheel me away from the machine, my fatigues neatly buttoned up, and holding their precious cargo aloft, my few millilitres of hope for their future.  Since when was sex ever for procreation?   No-one has pulled that ruse in years.  Sex is for pleasure, complete and utter pleasure, it serves no other purpose.  Babies, if you are stupid enough to still want one are another matter.  We have fertility clinics and gene screening for that, thank-you very much.  And yet.  And yet, I could almost cry for my babies when they take the little plastic tube away.  I will never get to meet them, or even hear how they are progressing.  It almost feels I am being robbed of them; funny that I never felt that way all those times I discarded the wet-wipes in the home-incinerator.  Happy to get rid of the evidence, a tinge of shame maybe even that I had succumbed once more to syn, but now I cannot help wondering where those little tadpoles are destined to swim.  I am even so depraved as to resorting to imagining the vaginas that my sperm will be squirted into.  Even surrogacy can be a source of arousal it would seem.

It is only a couple of weeks away now, my conjoining.  Well my first conjoining, because it is going to be in three stages.  Apparently.  Two weeks until the old Janek disappears and a new Janek emerges.  Like a butterfly from the chrysalis of the old me, I am expected to emerge, dew-fresh and unable at first to open my wings at all.  But soon I will be able to fly, though hopefully my life will not be as short-lived as those poor insects we are so desperately attempting to emulate.  I am strangely un-scared, complacent almost, resigned I would say.  Peacefully resigned.  And I am prone to moods of reflection, now that I am approaching my ‘re-birth’, my new existence, because I will be saying goodbye to the old me, as well as hopefully welcoming the new, computer-enhanced, me.