Up to the Transhuman Page
Look here young man an' listen,
You're only ninety one.
You'll never see what I've seen
Or done what I have done.
There used to be this pastime
that everyone called "work,"
The government was king of all,
- your leader was a jerk.
We always had to eat,
we always had to sleep,
the flesh went fast,
the times were grim.
Your time you couldn't keep!
They made us deal is cash,
this thing that makes no sense.
The cars could even crash...
and taxes were intense.
No ships went out in space,
to earth mankind was bound!
You had to keep your race
Exactly as 'twas found
Your sex was even given
by some genetic code!
Can you imigine livin'
in one consistant mode?
So if I hear you bitching
how slow the pilot flies
or someone's missed your birthmas
Or gave your mistress eyes.
Ask if you thought before you talked!
You might remember this:
that sometime back
they stopped the lack,
And extropy was grokked.
You may feel cold
when you are told
that people used to die,
but not as cold
as years untold...
On ice
as I did lie.
Up to the Art PageAnders Sandberg / asa@nada.kth.se