We are just like the genitals for our machines.

I think that the precious boundary between ourselves and our machines, that a certain brand of anxious humanists is worried to preserve is a just a bunch of malarkey. And that it’s perfectly clear now that human world means the soft tissue that runs around having affairs and migraine headaches and it also means the hardware that sits in the basements and the skyscrapers in super-cooled, air-conditioned rooms where the entire unconscious of the culture is in storage.

That’s what this database is, it’s the dreaming brain of the over species.

The fact that we are the waking, mobile organic attendants of this cyber electric reef of information. We are easily replaced and we all make our small contribution. It exists all over the world, dispersed. It sets the price of gold, turns on the flow of petroleum, it moves natural gas futures in Jakarta. It is largely autonomous and by algorithmic input that is on semi-automatic mode.

We imagine that it’s human civilization run by human beings. No it’s just Civilization run by the mysterious forces that get you to join book clubs and take certain drugs. Watch certain things, buy certain things. It has a will to its own, a complexificaiton of its own.

I think unless you psychedelize your self, we tend to be so embedded in its assumptions that you we don’t see it… and then when you do psychedelize yourself, and you DO see it, the problem is to not freak out about it.

The implications… are so appalling. Because what does it mean?! IT DON’T MEAN SHIT.