Synthetic Sociopathy

(This is partial and not meant to be considered a full piece of writing, but rather a musing towards a larger construction. Comments are more than welcome.)

 

She sought to wake up new, an inhabitant of anything unfamiliar. Suppressing the world’s suffering day by day by synthetic sociopathy. A successful disconnection from humanity – was it farther from or was it closer to? Without the constant reminder that we are all hurtling death-bound through life, removing this fear, removing feeling, opening up the ability to make concise and unmuddled decisions, poor or not; everything becomes a learning experience. Everything becomes more precise in its chaos. Everything becomes  nothing.

Life is unique. To amalgamate the correct amount of molecules and make this.  How many misfired neuron sparks did it take to make consciousness(/conscience)? So we can stumble along on cracked city sidewalks, hunting. The pursuant of – not sure if it’s the wild or the calculated. Heel stride wide and targeted. To her, everything feels both entirely unimportant and at once ultimately crucial. At her bones a meeting place for the primal and the methodological. Separation has become necessary for integration. Synthetic sociopathy; an impairment, or a transcendence?

What is human?

To realize that every interaction is a conduit to some greater understanding, and also entirely inconsequential leading to a superficial yet definite end. This meaning that we throw behind everything, significance – an afterthought, hindsight. We feel better about the superfluous decisions we wander through the world making. We feel better about existence, about being here, so we’re not just wasting space; so we’re not just an embodiment of exploitation and destruction. No, it’s purpose.

Synthetic sociopathy; an escape or a necessary abstraction? She is afraid that her humanity is wavering. She sits down to meals and can’t nourish her body in the correct forms. Nothing sits well in her stomach; she has been feeding off of determined apathy. The world has become shifting grey matter; everything is acceptable and everything is tainted. Nobody knows what love is – a messy wash of hormones, thought-controlled by a phantom formulist. She seeks control in the most chaotic ways.

What is human?

She has become obsessed with her synthetic sociopathy – in its purpose. She researches why she does the things she does, why feeling has become objectified, why acceptance is so easy, why nothing is everything and everything is nothing to her. She places her hand on the stovetop, the burner set on medium. She feels it, smells it more than anything, hears the sizzle. It is sudden realization that she is simply an object in an objectified world. This means nothing. Any meaning is a creation. Creation is divine. When she chooses to remove her hand, it is an act of deity. Choice is decision is creation is godly.

Waking up is not an act of fate, it’s an act of will.

Every morning we wake up and create something new; either for ourselves or for the rest of humanity -be it physical, fundamental, or in meaning only. We have been creators since consciousness. We are creators now. Why so many fear the open field of freedom forever troubles her. Why paths are our main mode of transportation, of mobility. Why we trust in the external rather than the internal. It’s not that the answers lie within us, it’s that the answers are superfluous. We are limitless, only contained by our own definitions. What happens when we stop defining?

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