Ephemera Rock, rubber, glue, glass, stones. Chitin, bones. All more durable than skin and meat. But isn't it better that way? Maybe I feel like my words and my thoughts need recording in stone and metal and not just in something as ephemeral as a head.

If I cut my head off, it will note store the thoughts. Heads are not modular. The greatest library: shelves and shelves of heads. Maybe a rudimentary body, a thick cylinder of body, no larger than a neck, little more than a base. And the heads, silent, sleeping, until they're needed, then they awaken. It would have some flair.

They couldn't just sit out on the ledge, though. Would you lock them in boxes? Cases. Each in a white plastic case. Too Ikea that way?

Or: abstracted further: pure, mere, neural matter. The disembodied brain. But brains have grown for usage in bodies. Just nerves, webs of nerves? How would they grow? Could you grow a cube of nerve, stack them in a corner, plug them in? Machines will stay machines until they can apprehend pattern, until they can recognize and relate and tie together. Enough growth of the brains of metal. Let's just get to the growth of real brains.

Maybe we're going at it wrong. We strive so hard for durability and permanence and maybe we need to run right into the arms of the ephemeral. Easier that way. Grow slow, die soon.  ¶ 12:14 PM