My family has spent the last few billion years reproducing only if they found nonexistence unimaginable or terrifying. While I am one of them, and while I try to not blame myself for it, I resent the amount of time I spend considering how I feel about this, how I will feel the moment I die, and how many times more I will anxiously consider this between now and then.
On the other hand, I hope to giggle when I realize how similar dying is to falling asleep. Each day, I am no more.
I think my inclination towards digital hoarding is, at least in part, a refutation of my mortality and as close to the singularity as I will ever get.
Unfortunately, it’s human work. The paragraph reads “For the six months after he was hired, Speagle would moderate 100 to 200 posts a day. He watched people throw puppies into a raging river, and put lit fireworks in dogs’ mouths. He watched people mutilate the genitals of a live mouse, and chop off a cat’s face with a hatchet. He watched videos of people playing with human fetuses, and says he learned that they are allowed on Facebook ‘as long as the skin is translucent.’ He found that he could no longer sleep for more than two or three hours a night. He would frequently wake up in a cold sweat, crying.”
What does this part mean?