Romantic, isn’t it? To abuse what’s supposedly curing you. To unconsciously occupy your body. To feel detached from what makes you human. Romantic because it’s different and often gets mistaken for spirituality. Divine providence reveals itself to you in the numb haze. To be drunk and confidant or high and pseudo-intellectual is preferable to being conscious and going through the days with a malign mass in your brain and a slow agonizing pain emitting from your heart. Order of the day: drugs first thing in the morning to send a jolt of electricity into your system. Your worn-out and depleted body can no longer start itself up. Drugs at the end of the day to reward yourself for successfully remaining alive. Drugs when you’re sick from all the drugs you’ve been taking. Drugs to alleviate the side effects of other drugs. A deluge of stimulants and depressants ravaging your body, reshaping your psyche every day.
Romantic, isn’t it? To die at the hands of your creation. An AI that’s more human than you. Create a god in your image and keep perfecting it, then take its hand into oblivion. Dwell inside your shell while the machine takes care of your body: the perfect form of substance addiction.
“And then he gave them consciousness and condemned them to life,” the unwritten words that should have been.