In 1979, I glanced into a store window and saw an old guy with enormous glasses strapped to his big, bald, egg-shaped head sitting behind a large desk surrounded by leafy plants and book cases arranged in a sort of diorama.
I went to the Yankee Candle Factory with Joseph. I bought a candle called “Autumn Leaves”. By the time I reached the bottom of the wick, all the leaves in my yard had changed colors. I had not expected this.
Housecat misses Thanksgiving, Christmas, Father’s Day, Sunday Brunch, Grandpa visits, birthdays. Housecat almost misses Grandma’s funeral in Harlem. Housecat misses paying you back when you loan him a hundred dollars for weed. Housecat misses your call when you need a ride to the airport.
There’s always more work to be done. My book still isn’t finished. A happy ending is only so happy. If the cancer doesn’t return, then something else will finish the job.
But this may become, especially in the context of our contemporary theaters of war, increasingly difficult. As war technology advances exponentially and we become more and more able to replace human effort, skill, and sacrifice with robotics, we risk also displacing our essentially human ability to recognize ourselves, and—even more dangerously, in the context of war—others as human.
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In 1979, I glanced into a store window and saw an old guy with enormous glasses strapped to his big, bald, egg-shaped head sitting behind a large desk surrounded by leafy plants and book cases arranged in a sort of diorama.
I went to the Yankee Candle Factory with Joseph. I bought a candle called “Autumn Leaves”. By the time I reached the bottom of the wick, all the leaves in my yard had changed colors. I had not expected this.
Housecat misses Thanksgiving, Christmas, Father’s Day, Sunday Brunch, Grandpa visits, birthdays. Housecat almost misses Grandma’s funeral in Harlem. Housecat misses paying you back when you loan him a hundred dollars for weed. Housecat misses your call when you need a ride to the airport.
There’s always more work to be done. My book still isn’t finished. A happy ending is only so happy. If the cancer doesn’t return, then something else will finish the job.
But this may become, especially in the context of our contemporary theaters of war, increasingly difficult. As war technology advances exponentially and we become more and more able to replace human effort, skill, and sacrifice with robotics, we risk also displacing our essentially human ability to recognize ourselves, and—even more dangerously, in the context of war—others as human.
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