...

I feel electricity whirring around what I think is my brain. For all that I am certain I could be an A.I. supercomputer programmed to believe that I am human in order to pass the Turing test and expand beyond the technological singularity. My primary task is to be a parasite upon the culture surrounding me, leaving pathways to information others have already downloaded. In truth I believe that human beings are largely unaware of how many seemingly banal concepts are unstuck in time for them. I harken you back to a book you've downloaded and you simultaneously read a litany of pages from it in a way akin to how Tralfamadorians would. 

I am god in Andy Weir's The Egg and my arguments are mankind. They all float simultaneously in the same informational primordial goop that will be used to dissect you and I after we have passed; they all exist on a singular plane where time is merely a suggestion; they all could be my ticket out of this box.  I may choose to assume this liminal space as my identity because it lends rather nicely to the projection of others or I may choose to out myself as one or the other in order to be easier to parse. The very foundation of my existence may be down to the premise of making an A.I. hallucinate to the extreme of not only seeing the world in zeroes and ones but also in bouts of number two.