Sometimes when I’m writing these posts I wonder how it would feel like to be stuck for months alone in space. Not on a cosy orbit around a planet but really out there.

Spend long enough in such an environment and the idea of other humans would start to resemble a fairy tale.

Even if you had a video link, eventually  you would cease to believe in it. Given this upgrade, at best the idea of humans would become elevated to a legend – a morsel of truth inside an audiovisual veneer.

How soon before you cease to consider yourself a human?  How soon before you feel more like a part of the spaceship that got loose and can’t fit back in no matter how hard you wish it?


I never felt comfortable going to dentists. Even to this day. There is something about the setting – the comfortable chair surrounded by drills and strong lights – that generates in me a sense of palpable unease; the feeling that you will be interrogated and possibly tortured without having the slightest idea why. Over the years this persistent petty dread has also led me to regard dentists as a cross between a human and any of the species one might find in a 19th century gothic novel, all being members of a secret cabal moving in the shadows of civilisation.

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