The "last man," a man bereft of creativity — by outward appearances soulless. An animal, doing what it can to survive, doing what it must to stay warm and, by any stretch, sane. A man without any grander purpose, without any drive to transcend his situation.
And so far, technology has offered no such transcendance. A cyborg living in virtual reality with access to millions of information and communication sources would be, and is, just as likely to become a "last man."
Than again, sometime's you're last and sometimes you're first. Cringer and Battlecat — we all shift and shiver between extremes. Encumbered by the titan of fatigue and insecurity, bearing his massive foot on your back, it's difficult to look up from the floor, from the stone and lichen that provide your daily meal and entertainment.
But is the titan really there, or have you just convinced yourself of his existence?
It's so refreshing to feel the breeze on the back of your neck and look at the stars creeping through the sun's fading curtain of light. But there's no such thing as a sensitive statue. Any being that's tasted its own blood should do more than wonder why the taste is pleasant.
Life is fantasy and more. Paracosm is omnicosm. There is only one truth, but that truth is liberty.
Whatever that means. I'll repeat myself only once: enjoy the stars while you can, because soon they'll all just be smoking bulletholes.
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