I wish I was a robot. I think it would be very relaxing to be like Data in Star Trek –yes, I know, he was an artificial life form rather than a robot, but he is positronic based rather than whatever it is that humans are. His makeup based in silicon while we’re based on carbon. But what attracts me the most is, no matter that he aspired to have feelings, except for a couple of episodes, he went emotion free. Free enough that in his last episode he was able to blow himself up along with the threatening ship that was going to destroy his friends on the Enterprise. Knowing that if the Enterprise was destroyed that the series would be over, he let himself be blown up without thoughts of regret.
How cool would it be to live with no fears, no regrets, no nothing more than the satisfaction even a mechanical man can experience. Those circuits signaling a job well done being about the only thing that interrupted empirical thought. Personally, staying within the Star Trek theme, I think being Borg would be about the right course for we human beings who, through our emotions, have screwed up our societies and our planet with unerring verve. Our need for gratification and power is an astounding thing and I don’t believe we should be proud of it. We are, in two words, fucked up.
How can you say that? Some people might ask me that question, citing the feelings of love and the good emotions that come to us in life. Well, I was pitched off to an adoption agency at birth and adopted into a family where my mom wanted me and my dad didn’t. She would hug me and soothe me –especially after my father would beat the tar out of me for some perceived offense I was often oblivious to. As to love, it has never lasted for those I have given it to. Their love being eventually directed off to another man. The honest women would dump me and the dishonest ones would play me for what they could get until I wised up to their story. Love for country? I used to have that, but Vietnam demonstrated that I didn’t go fight for my nations, I went and fought for people’s pocket book and station of power. Thirty years later I was bristling with a cancer that exposure to the chemicals of war inflicted on me. When I die, it will have been for my service to the nation, whose gratitude has been difficult to find although constantly spoken of.
I have lived a life of betrayals and loss and though it all have tried to stick to the principles of goodness, and for my efforts I get to sit here, immobile and pained. So I question what it’s all about and wish to hell that I could go blow myself up in a spaceship and somehow save the Enterprise that is the world I know.