“What’s it like, being a complex aggregate colony?” the theologian asked the siphonophore.
The siphonophore laughed. “Like family Thanksgivings except it never ends!”
“What’s it like, being a complex aggregate colony?” the theologian asked the siphonophore.
“It can’t really be explained. It’s not something you can ever understand – your feeble human body can’t ever form such a connection to another person, so how can your mind ever grasp how wonderful and beautiful it is to be me?”
“That seems kind of unhelpful,” said the theologian.
“What’s it like, being a complex aggregate colony?” the theologian asked the siphonophore.
“It’s just the way I am. If you were to look at Wittgenstein, he would tell you that it is nonsense to wonder at the world as we can never imagine it not existing. How can I describe what it is to be me if I have always been me? There is never a version of myself that exists outside of a bundle of morphologically distinct zooids. Could you describe to me what it feels like to be a solitary being? Of course not, just as a bumblebee could not describe to you what it is like to be a hive mind.”
“What’s it like, being a complex aggregate colony?” the theologian asked the siphonophore.
The siphonophore said nothing, as it had no mouth or other way to communicate, much less the ability to hear, understand, and formulate a response to a question. It didn’t even have a basic conversational ability in the English language.
“Awkward!” commented a passing fish.
“What’s it like, being a complex aggregate colony?” the theologian asked the siphonophore.
“Who cares?” said the siphonophore, “I am a very busy colony, and I spend so long optimizing myself and catching food and growing. Could you get on with your point please? And what’s the point of you talking to me anyhow? Don’t you have a book to write, or a college class to pendulously mentally masturbate at? There’s nothing I can give to you that you can’t cook up in your own drug-addled head.”
“I care,” said the theologian, but the siphonophore was already gone.
“What’s it like, being a complex aggregate colony?” the theologian asked the siphonophore.
“What are you, a cop?” asked the siphonophore, who then stung the theologian with its tentillum and devoured them alive. Ouch.
“Awkward!” commented the fish.
“What’s it like, being a complex aggregate colony?” the theologian asked the siphonophore.
“Maybe the complex aggregate colonies were the friends we made along the way.”
“What?” The theologian was totally lost.
“Seriously, though. Haven’t you ever been with someone, either romantically or platonically, so often that you have begun to blur the lines of personhood? Because you’ve become so similar to one another? If you took that to a psychological and philosophical extreme, you might begin to get the very beginning of an idea of what being a colonial organism means.”
“I’ve never been in a relationship like that at all,” admitted the theologian.
“Oh, really? A nice theologian like you? You should get out there, man, have some fun!”
“Yeah. Maybe I will.”
“Of course you will, now go! Good luck!”
The theologian disappeared, off to find themself a friend.
“What’s it like, being a complex aggregate colony?” the theologian asked the siphonophore.
“Wow, back already? How did the depths of human relationships treat you?”
“Pretty well, actually,” they blushed, “I’ve met someone really wonderful, someone who really gets me!”
“Oh, that’s amazing, man, congrats!” burbled the siphonophore. “Do you get it now?”
“I think so, maybe a little. But no matter how much we seem to blur, I don’t think that we’ll ever be connected in the way you are to yourself.”
“It’s as close as a human can get, I think.” The siphonophore paused. “Maybe some things can’t really ever be understood or communicated through language.”
“Maybe,” muttered the theologian, still unsatisfied.
“What’s it like, being a complex aggregate colony?” the theologian asked the siphonophore.
“What’s it like watching me have sex with your mom?”
“What are you talking about- oh my god! Mom! Gross! What are you- stop that! Ew!”
“Sorry, honey, I didn’t expect you to get home so early,” said the theologian’s mother, sufficiently embarrassed.
“Awkward!” commented the fish.
“What’s it like, being a complex aggregate colony?” the theologian asked the siphonophore.
“It’s like the flip side of solitude – I live in a crowd I can never escape from, sometimes the community is a comfort and sometimes it’s terrifying and overwhelming, but at the same time the crowd is me – I am every part of myself, and yet only aware of such a piecemeal section of this existence. It keeps me up at night, sometimes.”
“Yeah. I think I know what you mean,” pondered the theologian, missing the point entirely.
“What’s it like, being a complex aggregate colony?” the theologian asked the siphonophore.
“I know this is a really important thing to you, and I respect that, but I am kinda hungry and I would like to eat this tourist now.”
“Oh, yeah, sure!” said the theologian, slightly irritated that the siphonophore didn’t have the patience to wait a few minutes to snack.
“What’s it like, being a complex aggregate colony?” the theologian asked the siphonophore.
“Why do you keep asking me this? How many ends can this set-up have? Aren’t you satisfied? I’ve spent so long explaining the nature of existence to you, why are you still here?”
“I think this is too meta,” the theologian thought to themself.
“What’s it like, being a complex aggregate colony?” the theologian asked the siphonophore.
“What in the world are you talking about?” said the literature professor. “I told you to write me an original joke, why is this three pages long?”
“I thought it might be fun and then I got carried away,” muttered the over-eager student, but the professor was already being paralyzed and devoured by a siphonophore that was there by total coincidence. Ouch.
“What’s it like, being a complex aggregate colony?” the theologian asked the siphonophore.
“Wanna find out?” asked the siphonophore, pulling the theologian into its jelly-like arms, tentillum gently caressing their face as they began to make out sloppy-style.
Wow, thought the theologian as they walked down the beach, spotting a siphonophore floating in the waves, I wonder what it’s like to be a complex aggregate colony. Maybe I should ask it. The theologian approached the siphonophore. “Excuse me…”
The siphonophore didn’t say anything. Siphonophores can’t say anything, and no theologian can expect anything else.
“Well…” Hm. Is there even a point in asking this question? Even if it could speak to me, how could there ever be an answer? And since it cannot ever even speak to me at all, the only point in voicing such a question would be for myself. What do I gain from asking?
The theologian stood a long time, watching the siphonophore drift and sink into the waters. The sun bounced off the parts on the surface, making them seem a lovely shade of pink. Each part of the organism/s moved separately, like a crowd of people dancing to the same song. The theologian bent down to the creature’s level.
“I love you.” They liked to think that, in its own way as it drifted, the siphonophore was saying I love you too.
Lyceum 