Donatien Alphonse François de Sade was not a simple pornographer with bad luck; he was a visionary of human hardware. While his contemporaries spoke of souls and virtues, he dissected the will as if it were an engine in need of a tune-up. Today, transhumanism presents itself with a marketing smile and promises of immortality, but its core is pure Sade: the conviction that biology is a prison and technology is the file for the bars. The post-human is not the next step of evolution; it is the final victory of the libertine over the tyranny of nature.
Flesh is software full of bugs.
I feel a taste of dry glue on my palate, that stale trail left when you talk to yourself for too long. It’s a rough, cheap sensation. I wonder if anyone else feels like their own body is a rented suit that’s already starting to smell bad, or if it’s just me noticing how the air turns thick in this room. I don’t know. Perhaps identity is just the watermark of a manufacturer that went bankrupt millennia ago.
The Abolition of the Victim: The End of Resistance
Sade dreamed of total sovereignty, but he always hit a limit: the body of the other would break. Dark transhumanism proposes a technical solution to this existential problem. If we can digitalize consciousness or replace tissue with graphene, “damage” becomes an adjustable variable. We are building a world where cruelty and ecstasy can scale to infinity because there is no longer a biological substrate to stop them. It is the industrialization of Sadian excess, where pain is optional and intensity is the only god left standing.
Sometimes, the truth is a clean cut. Like when you cut yourself with a fresh sheet of paper and it takes a second to notice the sting.
My right foot has gone numb. A stupid nerve interference reminding me that I still depend on blood circulation to think.
Mental Health as an Update Protocol
It is cynical to observe how they sell us mental health as if it were a kind of modern decoration—wallpaper to cover the cracks in a structure that can no longer withstand the pressure of the 21st century. Sade knew that the only real health is the absolute freedom of impulses. In dark transhumanism, depression or anxiety are not ethical problems; they are “bugs” corrected with a firmware update or a neuronal download. We are being redesigned to be compatible with a system that does not tolerate weakness, turning the will into a configuration parameter.
I wonder if you, on the other side of the screen, don’t feel that your desires are sometimes just suggestions from a code you didn’t even write. Or maybe you’re just thirsty. The line is very thin between directed evolution and becoming a household appliance with pretensions.
Order is the coffin of surprise. Sade preferred the darkness of the dungeon because there the shadows had no owner; we have chosen a perpetual neon light that scans even our last intention. The post-human is the ultimate libertine: the one who no longer needs a victim because they have become their own experiment.
The Disappearance of the Trace
There is a strange relief in the idea that soon nothing will remain of what we call “human” today. Sade died demanding that his grave be sown with acorns so that the forest would erase his memory. Dark transhumanism seeks the same through saturation: being so much data, so fast and so complex, that the idea of a “person” becomes ridiculous.
Immortality is the most elegant form of suicide.
I’ve stopped writing because the silence from the street seems too sharp, almost artificial. There are no sounds, just the noise of my own breathing sounding like an old machine trying to stay on. I like this weight in my chest. It reminds me that, for now, the system still has to carry my biological mess.
