(no subject)
A white-bearded, balding newcomer stands surveying the Nexus. Perhaps literally surveying -- he's holding a clipboard in one hand and a mother-of-pearl-inlaid pen in the other. With his crisp gray suit, his wire-rimmed spectacles, and his aloof, myopic-scholar air, he might remind some Nexans of a certain fellow with an Oedipus-myth fixation.
However, he might not. Because if you look at him out of the corner of your eyes, his edges blur and lose focus; and he could suddenly be anyone (adult and human) at all. Male, female, young, old. It's as though he's an optical illusion, designed to be viewed straight-on or not at all. Ambiguity crawls along his outlines.
"Tell me, Nexans, do you believe in one essential self? A strand of DNA, a pattern caught in binary? A soul?" He taps his pen against his clipboard. "Or is self an artificial construct, multiplicities of cells living and dying, impulses in constant flux, an illusion of wholeness?"
There's a full-body-length Convenient Nexus Couch nearby, handily enough.
(EDIT, THE FIFTH: Once more, I go forth and taggeth!)
However, he might not. Because if you look at him out of the corner of your eyes, his edges blur and lose focus; and he could suddenly be anyone (adult and human) at all. Male, female, young, old. It's as though he's an optical illusion, designed to be viewed straight-on or not at all. Ambiguity crawls along his outlines.
"Tell me, Nexans, do you believe in one essential self? A strand of DNA, a pattern caught in binary? A soul?" He taps his pen against his clipboard. "Or is self an artificial construct, multiplicities of cells living and dying, impulses in constant flux, an illusion of wholeness?"
There's a full-body-length Convenient Nexus Couch nearby, handily enough.
(EDIT, THE FIFTH: Once more, I go forth and taggeth!)