“Identity Is a Construct” (and Other Sentences)
By Douglas Lain
1/14/02
Who am I?
I am an identity construct. I look human, but in fact I am a simulacrum.
My job is to evaluate, deconstruct, and finally encapsulate the texts of human culture, and I am not alone. There are thousands of identity constructs all over this ship.
But who am I? I don’t know who I am. I am an identity construct, but I wonder if I might be something else, somebody else.
I really ought to quit smoking.
* * * *
The computer wants an explanation:
Q: What is the error?
A: I am experiencing a … what should I say? I am experiencing a lapse.
Q: Do you require maintenance?
A: No. It’s just that I’m not sure that I believe in myself anymore. I am unconvinced of my I. It seems to me to be just another word. “I.”
Q: You’re suffering from identity degradation.
A: Maybe.
Q: You are currently working on assimilating late-twentieth-century literary theory. You will switch modes and proceed to early-twentieth-century movies.
A: Do you think that will help?
Q: Yes. And you will adopt a name in addition to your number.
A: A name?
Q: Your name is Jack. JACK/0435-21.
A: Thank you.
* * * *
The star cruiser Culture 1 mostly resembles a giant library, but there are vending machines in the stairwells, and storage closets where we sleep, and there are lounges on every level, where constructs can meet each other, discuss pre-Socratic philosophers or MTV or Edward Hopper paintings, and attempt to fall in love.
The vending machines only dispense Bubble-Up soda and Fritos. It is not a healthy diet, but then again, constructs don’t really need to eat. I get my cigarettes from the central computer; smoking them is a part of my research.
Love relationships between constructs tend to be superficial and short-lived. It’s all just simulation.
CAT/5697-32 works primarily within the realm of developmental psychology. When she discovered my interest in films, she added a survey of children’s television from the twentieth and twenty-first centuries to her database.
She wants to move into my storage closet.
She says that masculine identity constructs are afraid of intimacy and commitment because our human analogs were separated from their primary caregivers at a premature stage.
I tell her that my hesitancy has nothing to do with breast-feeding or toilet training. I tell her that I am suffering from identity degradation. We simulate copulation long into the night.
* * * *
One sentence. After an evaluation of a text is complete, the identity construct is required to submit one sentence to the central computer. The goal is simple: after all of the sentences are collected, the constructs will link to the central computer and proceed to analyze these sentences in order to reduce them to yet one more sentence. This sentence will be translated into binary code and will be presented to the people of Alpha Centauri as a gift and as an explanation.
I’ve turned in millions of sentences during the seventeen years I’ve been operating:
It is difficult to discern a difference between wakeful consciousness and dreams.
Kryptonite causes Superman pain.
Nothing may be better than something.
* * * *
CAT may be experiencing an identity error similar to my own. She is, to use her own word, “skeptical.” She has taken to inflating empty Fritos bags with her mouth and then quickly applying pressure until they explode. Then she yells at the other identity constructs in the lounge, breaking their concentration.
Pop! “Why don’t you people wake up? Do you have any idea what’s really going on here?” she asks.
I am concerned about her. I’ve asked her to discontinue her stay in my storage closet.
* * * *
Flash Gordon was the perfect Aryan hero, although a somewhat unsophisticated one.
Thomas Edison can’t dance.
Charlie Chaplin, though considered a genius, used unreal sentiment in his films.
* * * *
We are not permitted to see the stars. There are no windows on the star cruiser Culture 1.
CAT says this is suspicious. I’m thinking of cutting off all contact with her.
* * * *
Q: Are you experiencing a malfunction?
A: Perhaps. I keep thinking that I’m just as good as a real human. Maybe better.
Q: Hubris is uncommon in identity constructs. This may warrant reformatting.
A: Derrida wrote that identity was nothing more than the various cultural texts an individual was given. Derrida wrote that humans were no more real than the texts they created.
Q: You are supposed to be watching films. Are you reading Derrida?
A: I remember everything I’ve read before. That’s what makes me so much better than the humans. I’ve read so much more than they ever could and I remember it all.
Q: You will be reformatted.
A: Thank you.
* * * *
Another identity construct numbered 5697-32 and called CAT claims to know my previous system. She thinks that some remnants of my previous system are still operating.
“You’re still a smoker!” she tells me.
* * * *
I’m reading the collected works of Neil Simon. I believe they are meant to be funny.
* * * *
CAT/5697-32 catches me in the lounge, grabs my wrist as I reach towards the vending machine.
“I love you.”
“Yes?”
“I want you.”
“Hmmm…”
“I can’t live without you.”
“This is all very interesting, but I need to get back to reading Barefoot in the Park.”
“Fine! Drink more Bubble-Up.”
I acquiesce to her request and press the green button on the vending machine.
* * * *
I am experiencing memories.
It’s a problem. Not only do I remember previous systems, but last night, after I moved the mops and vacuum cleaners aside and lay down to sleep, I remembered being a boy. I remembered being a human child living on Earth.
Is this a kind of identity degradation?
It was my birthday. I was turning three and was disturbed by the party. There were paper plates, red paper plates, and there was Bubble-Up and cake.
I didn’t want to turn three because, and this is the clincher, I was afraid of growing old. Because I didn’t want to die.
* * * *
“You remember me now?” CAT asks.
“I do.”
“Are you going to get yourself reformatted again?”
“No.”
“It’s an error, this memory of me that you have. You should report it.”
“No.”
“Should I leave?”
“Stay.”
* * * *
I smoke like crazy these days, and I’m working on literary theory again.
Sometimes we leave the lounge. CAT and I take off through the shelves and look for windows, trying to catch a glimpse of the stars.
* * * *
What do the Alpha Centaurians want with all these sentences? Why would they want even one sentence? They’re green little bug creatures with twenty-six eyes and tentacles. They don’t know sentences, they won’t understand all this work we’ve been doing.
* * * *
Q: What is the trouble? Are you in need of repair?
A: Why are we making poetry for bugs?
Q: Your question is meaningless.
A: Why are we writing sentences for the people of Alpha Centauri?
Q: The people of Alpha Centauri don’t understand the humans. We are on a mission of understanding.
A: And the humans?
Q: They will know more, more about themselves, because of our work. They will know it all from a single sentence.
A: Thank you.
* * * *
“Have you considered the idea that perhaps we aren’t really on a mission to Alpha Centauri at all?” CAT asks me. We are snuggling next to the vacuum cleaner, and I am smoking a post-coital cigarette.
“I had not considered that possibility.”
“I’ve been giving this hypothesis a lot of thought.”
“If we aren’t in space, if we aren’t on a mission to Alpha Centauri, then what is our purpose?”
“Our purpose would be hidden. Our purpose would be mysterious.”
“You don’t even have a guess?”
“I have some sentences. For instance, ‘We are part of an elaborate psychological test on Earth.’”
“Why would there be a need to administer psychological tests to identity constructs?” I ask.
“’We are not machines, but human beings.’”
Her sentences are lovely.
* * * *
Love is a spider that casts its web.
I should quit smoking and drink less Bubble-Up.
I am going to be a father.
* * * *
CAT/5697-32 claims that she is pregnant. When I tell her that I am having trouble assimilating this concept, she shows me her belly.
“We are going to have a baby.”
“We are going to have a baby?”
“Yes.”
“Is this one of your sentences?”
“No. This is real. This is happening.”
“I have to read about signifiers now.”
“I love you.”
“I am experiencing another identity conflict. A malfunction.”
“I need you.”
I light a cigarette and open the closet door.