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I__ begun to think of the Immortality Bus as the Entropy Bus, and of ourselves as trundling across Texas in a great mobile metaphor for the inevitable decline of all things, the disintegration of all systems over time.
Mark O'Connell To Be a Machine: Adventures Among Cyborgs, Utopians, Hackers, and the Futurists Solving the Modest Problem of Death
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I__ begun to think of the Immortality Bus as the Entropy Bus, and of ourselves as trundling across Texas in a great mobile metaphor for the inevitable decline of all things, the disintegration of all systems over time.
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Mark O'Connell

To Be a Machine: Adventures Among Cyborgs, Utopians, Hackers, and the Futurists Solving the Modest Problem of Death

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"

As Roran watched, the man's arms, neck, and chest shriveled, and his bones appeared in sharp relief-from the bowlike curve of his collarbones to the hollow saddle of his hips, where his stomach hung like an empty waterskin. His lips puckered and drew back farther than they were intended to over his yellow teeth, baring them in a grisly snarl, while his eyeballs deflated as if they were engorged ticks being squished empty of blood, and the surrounding flesh sank inward.

"

Franz said 'Your picture, Viki, suggests that sense of breaking-up we feel in the modern world. Families, nations, classes, other loyalty groups falling apart. Things changing before you get to know them. Death on the installment plan _ or decay by jumps. Instantaneous birth. Something out of nothing. Reality replacing science fiction so fast that you can't tell which is which. Constant sense of deja-vu - 'I was here before, but when, how?' Even the possibility that there's no real continuity between events, just inexplicable gaps. And of course every gap _ every crack _ means a new perching place for horror.

"

Arms still crossed, Lindsay's clogs tapped on the sidewalk. __o Sam didn__ tell you I was a desperate orphan child with no life outside of work? This isn__ some kind of intervention, some kind of lame attempt to cheer me up?_ He grinned.__hy would she do that?_ __ecause that__ how it sounded._ Nudging her shoulder, he grinning down at her. __ou don__ look desperate, Dr. Lindsay, not by a long shot." __hat__ because you don__ know me._ Lindsay bit her lower lip, arms still crossed, clogs still tap-tap-tapping. Her chest heaved. __y parent__ died in a car accident almost two years ago. It__ a difficult thing to get over. I__ still not exactly right. I guess she worries about me._ Ty sucked in his breath, thinking fast. ____ really sorry about your parents, Linds._ As he put an arm around her shoulder, she broke into a self-conscious smile and shook her head. __pend any time with me at all and you__l find that Sam__ right. I__ a desperate orphan child, completely paranoid and irrepressibly horny._ __hoa!_ She looked so cute, but vulnerable, too. He closed the arm around her shoulder, squeezing her sideways to his chest. Embarrassed, she smiled as she elbowed his rib. Then she dropped her arms and stayed put, tucked close against him. It felt right, having her there.

"

She wrote, in the last pages, of feeling all the evil of the neighborhood around her. Rather, she wrote obscurely, good and evil are mixed together and reinforce each other in turn. Marcello, if you thought about it, was really a good arrangement, but the good tasted of the bad and the bad tasted of the good, it was a mixture that took your breath away. A few evenings earlier, something had happened that had really scared her. Marcello had left, the television was off, the house was empty, Rino was out, her parents were going to bed. She was alone in the kitchen washing the dishes and was tired, really without energy, when there was an explosion. She had turned suddenly and realized that the big copper pot had exploded. Like that, by itself. It was hanging on the nail where it normally hung, but in the middle there was a large hole and the rim was lifted and twisted and the pot itself was all deformed, as if it could no longer maintain its appearance as a pot. Her mother had hurried in in her nightgown and blamed her for dropping it and ruining it. But a copper pot, even if you drop it, doesn't break and doesn't become misshapen like that. "It's this sort of thing," Lila concluded, "that frightens me. More than Marcello, more than anyone. And I feel that I have to find a solution, otherwise, everything, one thing after another, will break, everything, everything.

EF
Elena Ferrante

My Brilliant Friend