In 1988, artist Lynn Hershman Leeson told an interviewer to “imagine a world in which there is a blurring between the soul and the chip.” When it comes to humans and technology, I always thought the blurring would be physical. Humans would reproduce with robots, or we’d get chips implanted into our brains. After eighteen pandemic months in which I’ve spent so much time on the internet that I can’t tell the difference between my own inner monologue and that of the people I follow on Twitter, I realized there’s no robot sex necessary. The Internet has insidiously taken over our visual and verbal language.
