Posthuman Blues

Human experience is inherently conspiratorial. The data that my brain interprets as "reality" has already passed through an array of biological filtering mechanisms. Photons are converted into images; waves in the atmosphere are assembled into "sounds"; diffuse molecules become "smells," etc. The human body is a highly selective sensory environment -- an interface between what we choose to call our "selves" and whatever seething weirdness lurks beyond our membrane of skin. Virtual reality is the _only_ reality.

Our posthuman descendants will be able to modulate experience. I imagine them as wispy stick-figures with thatches of cilia for hands. Some of them have heads; others don't. Their mentational substrate is distributed throughout their bodies so that trauma won't endanger their identity. Like starfish, they're able to regenerate. And they're so light they can take to the air like bits of refuse in a strong breeze.