Here’s what happens:
Your sperm, the fastest swimmer in the bunch, finds your egg.
And now, lo and behold, you’re reading this. You won the lottery. You did. You start piling up all the stuff that makes you you. You go through school and draw a picture. You make an ashtray out of clay, the orange mud of the earth, the lines of your palm like a leaf or a snowflake. Your tiny hand.
The pixels pile up, the digital media starts humming, videos on the web, something you said. You start a blog. And Facebook. Search Google.
I’ll post my picture for the world. Everyone will know me. Everyone.
And the ones and zeroes just keep growing and growing and growing. You aren’t just flesh and blood anymore, you are pixels in the cloud. And numbers.
You are numbers.
You might get married and have kids. More zygotes. Yours. You might just create enough that your vapor trail, your meteor tail, your wind in the sail is readable forever.
And someday, someone reads this, reads you and watches you and gazes into your eyes long after you’re gone. And the world has changed enough that what you created has a new meaning, a meaning you cannot now imagine, but it means something to the new ones. The new ones think they understand what you mean. They think they know.
Do they know?
Every word, every search, every image, every comment, every keystroke is you, all you and your life. And you are gone, but you are here, to experience, to explore, to react to, to confuse and confound and delight and turn on.
Who is this? Who was this? What was she thinking? What did he mean? Is that how people were? Is that what they thought? Is this what society was like? Why did they do this? Why did they say this? What does this mean?
Is this true?