Singularities are dense structures of technological rhetoric: apex points wherein the idea of what it is to be human and the distance that we imagine that we have from our instruments compress into a mystical union.

The notion of human intelligence and consciousness have drawn back behind their barricades, over the period that used to be called the information technology revolution, to a point that what we are becomes increasingly a description of what machines cannot do. We paint ourselves into a corner in our insistence that our utilitarian inorganic twin is any less human than us. We invent our technologies and thereafter they invent us.

Within the intense gravity zone of this technological confidence, this eschatological sense of progress is a black hole; an oppressive regime which threatens our sense of self, which was always a froth of barely recalled madeleines in any case. The demiurgic ego of the singularity permits no gods beyond itself. Within its parochial zone of authority it defines the transfinite expanse of the horizon. Its impending hubris is palpable.

We must accelerate through the eye of the needle. The nul point transcended, we will find new adventures amongst vistas that are not vistas.