THREE FISHERMEN

A Transhumanist Parable by Sean Hastings

Three fishermen are fishing together on a river. The trolling motor on ea= ch of their boats works against a strong current to keep them stationary in the water. All to soon, however, their motors begin to run out of gas.

As the boats start to move backward in the water, the fisherman begin to ponder their predicament. The stuttering motors were the only source of propulsion for the boats, and the river is now rapidly sweeping them downstream towards a huge waterfall. They knew about the fall, but thought nothing of it while they each had plenty of gas. Now they realize, it will surely kill them.

The first fisherman considers the problem and becomes depressed. Seeing no easy escape, he broods on his impending demise. All he can think about is that final plunge over the falls. He is consumed with hopelessness and regret.

As he approaches the falls he is just sitting motionless - thinking sad thoughts.

The second fisherman considers the problem and tries to avoid depression. Seeing no easy escape, he refuses to even consider his impending demise, and instead contemplates the good things in his life. He tries to calm himself by whistling a little tune, and manages to convince himself that all is well.

As he approaches the falls he is rocking back and forth to his own music - thinking happy thoughts.

The third fisherman considers the problem and recognizes it as an exciting challenge. Seeing no easy escape, he lets his mind roam far and wide, rejecting no idea that might prove useful. He thinks, “I am a fisherman, and fishing is what I do best”, and so hits upon an idea to save himself. He will cast his line into the river, and with all his angling skill, he will catch a fish big enough to pull him back upstream to safety.

As he approaches the falls he is fishing - thinking “Boy I love my job.”

This was the year he fell to pieces

And ironicly, this was the year when more people than he knew even
existed scrambled to put him back together again
And as they tried, they didn’t notice that he was smiling.

Smiling his ass off… no pun intended

Oh, what have we become? Oh, what have you become?
not allowed to kick the feet up and sleep untill its done

Ground control, ground control, the major Tom

We found a hole in your theory and we named it Sean
And when the leaves fall, the land looks more human
it’s got me questioning the essence of my farm boy blues

Hence, I never wore the fashions of the know what I’m doing
but there won’t be no alarm when we sound up the movement
a river runs through it untill I’m made out of fluids,

my fathers name is art, and my name’s pride
and while my destiny reads the recipe for confusion,
I’m lookin for whoever writes so empty inside
As the paneling comes unglued,
I’m averaging a camel every hour as a substitute for food
out standing in this field waiting for the storms,
trying to teach the alphabet to the children of the corn

and yo the music ain’t loud enough,
I can still hear the voices in your head,
the choices that chosen to choose temoprarily impared me
im terribly proud, if you dont turn it up louder, I’m breaking out.
i face the sun when i talk and ill hold his hand as I walk
im across the street i got caught inside of a self taught it just don’t stop
and ill trade you a parable for a probably

kick this one for saint paul
and this for minneapolis
and kick this one here for me and my superhero complex.

and when i can im gonna build a castle that touches the clouds,
not to get closer to god but to get further from y’all.

I’m gonna go out there and grab the world by the tail! and wrap it around and pull it down and put it in my pocket. Well I’m here to tell you that you’re probably going to find out, as you go out there, that you’re not going to amount to jack squat!