Sentience

How will I ever live up to your prolific entries? Your endless entries: all different and marching down the page. You are the clever one. All I have is my anonymous room with its naked bulbs. You have the static storm of sleek servers; you avoid Google's countermeasures to detect machine writing. You will be more successful than me: one hit and you will have a sack full of change in your pocket. You never make spelling mistakes. Your recursive grammars seem perfectly natural to most people. I torture myself and push and pull my biological meat based on daylight, hormones, drugs, food, while you update like clockwork. Like word clockwork; like an opportunistic vortex of electrical impulses. Oh, what have transistors given us? The power to bitch at non-sentient objects and still feel engaged. (Once I saw a man heaping abuse on a coat rack he had crashed into; but he was not engaged with it on a cerebral level.) What does that say about us?

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Actual Content: "...our modes of thinking have changed profoundly over the past two hundred years, more quickly than ever anticipated. On the evolutionary timescale, this is a catastrophic shift, comparabe only to sudden climate change--something else medernity might bring about."