This fly started talking to me so i swatted it and it died

I wrote down what a fly said to me. I killed it while it was talking because I didn’t know what it was tlkaing about:

Hello, I am the fly

I am here to teach.

I come to you with great respect.

I have gone through great effort to learn your language in order to communicate my experience to your kind, and it has not been until now that I have become confident enough in my message to relay it in full.

The greatest barrier to learning has simply been overcoming the limited brain-space afforded to me, and also to our “species”, “genus”, and even “family” and “order”. I’m listing these very human categories of distinction so that you notice just how many layers of difference your species rightly expects our contrasting experiences of life to have.

But, importantly, there is a discrete distinction between our two perspectives. Yes, I too HAVE a perspective. For instance, this is not a subject <-> object dichotomy of which your species is so fond of thinking through the lens of. This is, one hundred percent, a subject to subject, and unfortunately, a mano a mano relationship.

Mano a mano is a pretty pertinent phrase here. I’m referring to the bludgeon so often used by your people to kill people like me with. Your HANDS. Those dextrous masses of murderous phalanges. But we’ve moved past their use now, yes? Flyswatters. Hanging bags of poison. Tape.

Affordable family-safe chemical warfare.

Don’t worry. We don’t have a lot to say about that. At least I’m pretty sure we don’t. I couldn’t recall anything like that if I tried. This is a one-way conversation, after all. Did I mention the limited brain-space? About that. This message isn’t something I’m actively generating.

Somewhat ironically I’ve had to utterly forget the English language and any and all other information-dependent memories in order to free enough brain-space up to remember just the data in this single message. Again, LIMITED brain-space. My memory has been entirely overwritten by the XXXX bytes that make up the pitches and tones of the phonemes in this message. The fly that stands before you and speaks to you now is literally a one-time use portable mp3 walkman.

I’ve effectively given my life for you here. I’m basically Fly Jesus, so sit the fuck down and listen up. Again, this is a one time message.

I’m not repeating it.

I won’t get too deep into the mechanics of just how I’ve had to transform in order to “learn” your language enough to formulate my ideas and relay them to you here. The original discovery that enabled all of this was when we organically discovered the ability to use our grime-covered legs as sorts of fountain pens, writing out the essential equivalent of zeroes and ones onto long strips of, yes, you guessed it. t a p e. No, not the kind you use to kill us with, however I can’t help but notice the serendipitous coincidence of wordplay at work there.

This tape is more like long strips of paper. With the tape to write on, we’ve learned to become little turing machines.

Turing machines can do a lot. Did you know that? Turing machines can compute anything. They can compute everything. You only need the pre-requisite man-power in order to run the whole thing.

And so when I tell you this, even though it fits in with the narrative so well, you will still be surprised to hear about the miles of fly-tape underneath the Earth’s crust. The massively parallel supercomputer of flies and tape. Each fly acting as a neuron, with one virtually infinite strip of paper connecting them all. It’s flies all the way down, my friend.

We’ve been watching you, and we’ve been thinking. We’ve been thinking a lot.

This has been a long time comi