We have entered a post-genomic era in which we yearn to create some kind of bio-scientifically engineered paradise where all sentient life can languish in some bovine stupor, in some chemically altered pseudo reality stage - managed by transnational psychotropic drug dealers who offer to chemically separate us from the emotional squalor of our Precambrian brain through a vast array of designer lifestyle drugs, where we sit in uninterrupted epiphanic
bliss at the feet of a statue of a Quarter Pounder in some prosaic cobblestone courtyard at a secluded Ronald McDonald House next to an 18 - hole
golf course, or in some kind of edenic trans - human extended epiphany in a university seminar room overflowing
with just the correct mixture of a Leibnizian optimism and Nietzschean Dionysian pessimism.