Wednesday, May 20, 2015

the post human that therefore i am

Narrate a story (make one up or take an anecdote from your daily life) where you perform a human/animal reversal or human/animal blurring, similar to the ones we've been reading this week. Estrange yourself from your own subject position by trying to narrate your behavior from the perspective of a nonhuman being with whom you might interact.


  1. This is my narrative from the perspective of a pet fish:
    I live with two others of my kind. We spend out time circling the invisible walls of our watery box. When I look out to the outside I see large formations of things that I don't really understand. Still, it is what I have to spend my time watching. Sometimes the large creatures from outside the box walk by. One of them sometimes opens one of the walls and puts dry flakes on the surface of the water. I eat those things, because it is the only food available to me, and it is all I really know. Once one of the others of my kind nibbled at my fin. But the large creature made a noise that rang through the box and scared it away. I stay away from that one now. I think the creature was trying to help, but perhaps not. Sometimes the creatures stare at me. Their giant wide eyes just watch me swim and sometimes I watch them back, and sometimes I don't. I'm not sure why they want me here, they rarely come by like they did when I was first taken too this specific box. I was transferred here from another one. This one is fine. I just swim, and I eat, and I look around occasionally.

  2. Elisa, i love this. you could try a whole series of them, like prose poems. the sense of monotony and apathy is chilling.

  3. Narrative of a cat living in a small room

    I try to spend most of my time napping; especially when the humans are gone. But once I've slept for a few hours, all I want to do is run and play. Sometimes I run in circles around the room, turning the small space into an obstacle course that I must complete as fast as possible. I liked to make up games while the humans were away. I would try and climb to the very top of the curtains in front of the window, using my new sharp claws to grip the fabric and hang from up above. I climbed all over the furniture since, of course, I had no where else to explore. The beds and shelves were enough for me. When I felt especially bored, I often chased my tail in circles or cleaned my fur while lounging on a bed. Having the few sources of entertainment that were available to me usually occupied my time enough to make each day a little interesting. Except, whenever one of them opens the door to go outside, I always try to nonchalantly make my way closer to the door. I don't want escape necessarily, but rather get a peak of what I could be missing. I know I'm lucky, since they give me food and all, but I still can't help but wonder what other things could be out there that I could climb onto and explore.

  4. I carry the sugar crystal on my back. The colony is going to be so excited. I can’t believe how much sugar we found this time. Oh gosh. Someone just turned on the lights. I pick up my pace a bit. So does everyone else. We’re walking in a line, heading back to the nest. The queen is hungry and I know she will be so happy…if only we can make it back with everyone and all the sugar intact. The person is approaching our line. It is spraying all my friends with some liquid! It’s a massacre. I barely get into the wall on time. I see all my friends being wiped up with a paper towel.

  5. This is from the perspective of a mosquito:
    As I flew through the forest I noticed a bright list. I flew closer and closer until I noticed that I had entered the home of the bright light. I decided to perch myself onto the strange white wall to rest since. The home I had entered contained two humans whom I thought were quite strange. All the humans did was sit and stare at tiny glowing screens. About an hour passed since I had arrived and I thought it would be good to test of my wings to see if I was ready to make the flight home.

    As soon I entered the air, one on the humans began to scream. I think she noticed me. I don't know why she's making that horrible noise. She's much larger than I am. the other human began to swing a broom at me! My life flashed before my eyes. Would I ever see my family again? I didn't know. I just knew that I had to stay out of the human's range to avoid getting hit. I managed to dodge the human for about five minutes, until I felt as if all the pressure of the Earth collided with my head. I fell. I fell for what seemed like a century until I hit the ground. Two of my legs were gone. I could feel that is was getting harder to breather. This was it. All I could see was the light above me. The light had betrayed me.

  6. Narrative of a dog living in a house:
    As I roam the backyard, I always scavenge and explore in order to see what I can find. I sniff, I listen, and I attempt to see. Everyday I listen to the humans speaking and laughing. I enjoy the company of the family; I mean, they feed me, give me water and shelter, which are essential to living. There are three humans who are smaller than the two bigger humans. I despise the littlest human at times, as it always tends to grab my tail (One of my petpeeves). The other two are slightly bigger, and they always chase me and I chase them back. The biggest human always gets home when the giant ball of light is going away. I am always excited when I see it getting to the house because he always spends a lot of time with me and usually feeds me and gives me water.