somehow a doll is no more real than a human, or rather that we are no more fake than dolls. what separates us from this beautiful simulation? what need do we have for reality in a world where a copy is capable of being manipulated by our whims so easily?

in a narcissistic frenzy we created god in the image of ourselves and fell in love with it. pygmalia and galatea have been reborn like gods out of a machine

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