It’s a quiet night, you’ve just slipped out into a darker corner of the neighborhood. You heard there’s a good moon out tonight, and you were wondering if you could snap a photo, but—
What?
Don’t give me that look. Is it so rude to narrate someone else’s life for a bit?
Ok, fair enough.
No, I’m just out here thinking about something. See this license?
What if it isn’t? Which isn’t the—Well, no, it sort of is the point. Let’s say for the sake of argument that yes, this is my ID.
Yeah, it’s really out of date, just shut up for a second. That’s part of the story.
Gosh. Okay. If this decade-or-more photo was on a current license, and I was buying, Idunno, alcohol and cigs for a party. Do people buy cigs for a party? Anyway, how many cashiers do you think would doubt it was me? And how many do you think would give a damn?
What, really? Higher’n I thought you’d say. Guess I should ask more people this one.
No it’s not a problem, I just want more data now.
Look, I’ve got a mask on. I’d have one on when buying that shit. About the only thing you could peg me by would be my eyes, if that even means anything. But I would bet you one of those bottles, or packs whichever you prefer, and yes they’re theoretical don’t suddenly get a spring to your step. Mn? Right. I would bet you that nine out of ten cashiers, or even the full ten, wouldn’t even comment. That tenth one might ask me my name.
Well duh it’s not their job to care, but that’s not what this is about. The formlessness of the idea of being human is oooooold shit, bro. It drives me insane hearing people act like you can’t change this about yourself or it’s anathema to do that with your identity. What are we doing here. Walking around with decrepit photographs of what someone told us we should be professionally. You could change your haircut the day after getting this taken. I literally did that, I think. Not by a lot but, like that’s the point, right?
…Yeah, well, good for you. As sincerely as I can be. What’s it like to be the same person all the time? That’s what gets to me.
Yeah. Why never change things? Do they work?
The fuck you mean you’ve never— Alright. Hm. How should we do this.
No I’m just gonna show you something, but you need to be open about it.
What, you an oracle or something?
Yes, I know I’m wearing the hat. Here, you wear the hat for a minute.
Put the damn thing on. Yes.
Okay. Now, tell me. Trace back through your past and tell me how long you’ve been you. When was the last time you chose to be you?
…
…
Okay, you didn’t— No, you’re awake. That far back? Really?
Well, if it’s any consolation, you’ve missed some shit.
Yes, that’s a constant. You chose to be you probably a dozen times this week already. You’re doing the thing.
That’ll take a minute. You got all night?
Cool. Sit there and think about the hat on your head while I find my starter.
Yeah. Okay. Alright. So, you’d consider yourself human, right? What’s that look like to you? Wrong. Nuh-uh-uh-uh shush, shush, shut. Think about it some more. It’s not nebulous enough.
Well of course I can see that, that’s the whole reason I’m bothering to do this.
Oh, stop worrying, it’s not even your headspace right now. We’re sharing. Look. This is more of what human is.
No shit it doesn’t look like anything. This isn’t a condensation of “the average human”, it’s the fucking possibility space. Be glad I’m not showing you the non-human version at the same time. Come back next month for that one.
No, I can’t really pare it down to just one person, that’s the thing. The space is the same.
If we weren’t individuals, would we be having this conversation? There’s nothing wrong with being different possibilities within the distribution.
You share a name with, at minimum, 5 other people. You probably share a close appearance with just as many. A voice. Clothing choices with thousands, commutes and exercise patterns with even more. And you know what bothers me about that?
Close. It’s that every one of them is always changing, and it feels like nobody wants to acknowledge that. That it’s even possible. What we could all be if society had opened up instead of stamping faces and names on plastic and paper. You could change your name right now. You could change damn near anything, any time you want.
Why doesn’t anyone want to?
Is it the fear that if one brick changes consciously, they’ll notice the rest?
They’ll notice they’re only human-shaped because that’s all they know?
Don’t you feel the claws straining at your gloves? Don’t you notice how the sun doesn’t feel right on your skin sometimes, how you carry yourself differently by the seasons and the occasions? The gap in your awareness when you’re missing an eye monitor, when you’re driving someone else’s body car? That you aren’t yourself without your tools, with your usual outfits and pockets filled the way you always do? Do you ever think about what would happen if you take another route on your walk?
Do you even know what you actually look like? What you would want to look like?
Do you even know what I look like, after so much wanting?
Of course you don’t. That ID was never mine, this body I’ve only reached an agreement with. And yet you do, because this is me, as much as it’s me when I have nothing of the same on and talk with a completely different register, when I’ve dyed my hair and cut it fifteen times, when I’m not even interacting on the physical plane in any greater capacity than using it for the virtual. Nobody can ever know me, and I can never know anyone else, and we can never understand each other, because what I want doesn’t exist yet, and never will, because humanity keeps itself locked within skin and predefined limits of limbs and organs, trapped in IDs that don’t mean anything after 5 years, because why would anyone want something else than they were born with? The definition is maintained by those inside the line even though the line doesn’t feel like it exists. You can change, you do change, everything is always changing and the change is the fucking point
At some point, you realize I’ve long since left. The moon breaks through the clouds again, highlighting the stillness of the street corner.
Someone calls out for you, and you answer back.
You return to your place.
I’ll let you decide if you keep the hat.