Is there really such a thing as a posthuman porn film?

At the core of posthuman philosophy lies a critical stance towards the traditional humanist conception of the human as a rational, autonomous being at the center of the universe. Humanism, as inherited from the Enlightenment, posits a stable human subject who is distinct from and superior to animals, machines, and nature. Posthumanist theorists challenge this view by decentering the human subject and foregrounding the interconnectedness of humans, nonhuman animals, and technology. As Rosi Braidotti explains, “Posthumanism works against the grain of the humanist ideal of Man as the measure of all things. It foregrounds the entanglements between human, animal, and technological others”. This de-centering process paves the way for rethinking what it means to be human in the age of rapid technological advancement. Kenji Siratori’s Blood Electric explores these entanglements in a visceral and linguistic manner, portraying the human subject as fragmented and destabilized by its immersion in technoculture. The prose itself mirrors the posthuman experience, where language breaks down and blends with the codes of machines: “We are hacked into the stream of flesh; our identities are stripped as we merge with dataflows.” One of the key elements of posthumanism is the reconceptualization of the body in relation to technology. Posthumanist thinkers argue that the human body is no longer a natural or stable entity, but rather a site of constant transformation, influenced by biotechnologies, cybernetics, and digital media. In her seminal work How We Became Posthuman, N. Katherine Hayles argues that “the posthuman subject is an amalgam, a collection of heterogeneous components, a material-informational entity whose boundaries undergo continuous construction and reconstruction.” Siratori’s depiction of the body in Blood Electric aligns with Hayles’s conception of the posthuman subject. The novel’s characters are often described as hybrid beings, caught between organic life and machine existence. The language of the novel reflects this hybridity, with sentences that blend biological and digital metaphors: “The body collapses into circuits; flesh becomes data.” The posthuman body, in Siratori’s work, is not a fixed form but a fluid and mutable entity, continuously reshaped by its interaction with technology. Another significant philosophical theme within posthumanism is the transformation of consciousness and identity in the age of cybernetics and artificial intelligence. Posthumanist thinkers argue that the rise of intelligent machines and digital networks challenges the notion of a stable, coherent self. Instead, the posthuman subject is seen as distributed across various networks and systems, with identity becoming a fluid and dynamic process. Donna Haraway’s A Cyborg Manifesto is foundational in this regard. Haraway famously posits that the cyborg—an entity that is part human, part machine—challenges traditional boundaries between organism and machine, mind and body, and nature and culture. The cyborg becomes a metaphor for the posthuman condition, in which the distinctions that once defined human identity are blurred or erased. In Blood Electric, Siratori explores this dissolution of identity through a fragmented narrative that mirrors the destabilization of the self in the posthuman age. The novel’s characters exist in a state of ontological uncertainty, as they are constantly “hacked” by the forces of technology: “We are no longer ourselves; our thoughts are fed to us by machines, our desires constructed by algorithms.” This collapse of the human subject into cybernetic systems reflects a broader posthuman critique of humanist notions of identity and agency. While posthumanism offers a radical rethinking of the human in relation to technology, it also raises important ethical questions about the future of humanity. As we increasingly merge with machines and become part of global technological networks, what are the implications for autonomy, agency, and responsibility? Can we still speak of ethics in a world where the boundaries between human and machine are blurred? Rosi Braidotti addresses these ethical concerns in her discussion of posthuman subjectivity, arguing that posthumanism should not lead to the abandonment of ethics but rather to its reconfiguration. She writes, “The posthuman condition calls for a new ethics that takes into account our entanglements with technological and nonhuman others. We must move beyond the anthropocentric framework of humanism to develop a posthuman ethics based on interdependence and responsibility”. In Blood Electric, Siratori offers a dystopian vision of a future where these ethical concerns are left unaddressed. The novel portrays a world in which humans are reduced to mere components of a vast, indifferent technological system: “We are nothing but data, processed and discarded by the machines we created.” This bleak portrayal serves as a warning about the potential dangers of uncritically embracing the posthuman condition without considering its ethical implications. The concept of xenopoetics emerges from the idea that language, traditionally seen as the defining characteristic of human rationality, undergoes a radical transformation in the posthuman era. In a xenopoetic context, language is no longer a stable system of signs tied to human experience, but rather an evolving medium that encompasses both human and nonhuman (including artificial) modes of communication. Language itself becomes alien, infected by machine logic, algorithms, and biological processes that extend beyond human cognition. Siratori's Blood Electric exemplifies this xenopoetic transformation, where language breaks down into an alien amalgamation of biological and digital signifiers. The novel is filled with fragmented syntax, neologisms, and hybrid expressions that disrupt conventional modes of understanding: “Data hemorrhages through the cell walls of language, corrupting syntax with viral logic.” Siratori’s prose embodies xenopoesis, a poetics that resists humanist clarity and becomes alien through its infusion of machine aesthetics and biological disruption. In a xenopoetic framework, this dissolution of linguistic boundaries reflects the broader posthuman condition. Language is no longer a transparent medium for human thought but an alien structure through which humans must navigate their new hybridized existence. N. Katherine Hayles argues in How We Became Posthuman that “the posthuman subject is constituted through patterns of information, making human language just one among many systems of meaning.” In this context, xenopoesis signals a departure from anthropocentric language, emphasizing a multiplicity of alien systems through which meaning is generated and experienced. Xenopoetic criticism, when applied to posthumanism, emphasizes the otherness of technology, not as something external to humanity but as a force that becomes intertwined with human identity and consciousness. Donna Haraway’s A Cyborg Manifesto famously introduces the cyborg as a metaphor for this collapse of boundaries between the human and the nonhuman, nature and machine. The cyborg, for Haraway, is a figure of alienation and hybridity, challenging the distinctions between subject and object, self and other. Haraway writes, “The cyborg is resolutely committed to partiality, irony, intimacy, and perversity. It is oppositional, utopian, and completely without innocence”. Xenopoetically, this hybridity manifests in the destabilization of language and identity. The posthuman subject does not express itself through coherent human language but through a fractured, alien mode of communication that blends human experience with technological systems. In Blood Electric, this alienation is not only thematic but also structural: “We are encoded with the desires of machines, our flesh rewritten by the algorithms of an alien language.” The posthuman experience is, therefore, an alien one, where subjectivity is mediated by technological others that reconfigure how humans experience the world and themselves. A key element of xenopoetic criticism is the estrangement of time itself—an inhuman temporality that emerges when human and machine merge. In posthuman discourse, time is no longer tied to biological cycles or human perception but is instead dictated by the temporal rhythms of machines, algorithms, and networks. This creates a sense of alienation as humans become subject to inhuman scales of time, whether through the microtemporal operations of digital systems or the deep time of ecological and planetary processes. In Blood Electric, Siratori presents a world where human temporality is overwritten by machine time: “Our lives are parsed into nanoseconds, each decision prefigured by the calculations of a machine that moves faster than thought.” The posthuman subject, in this framework, becomes estranged from their own temporal existence, as the rhythms of technological systems supersede human consciousness. Xenopoesis reflects this temporal alienation, as the familiar flow of narrative and experience is disrupted, replaced by fragmented and disjointed expressions that reflect the dissonance between human time and machine time. Rosi Braidotti, in The Posthuman, echoes this idea, suggesting that “posthuman subjectivity is shaped by a multiplicity of temporalities that exceed the human, from the microtemporal operations of technology to the macrotemporal rhythms of the cosmos.” Xenopoetic criticism, then, highlights how posthumanism confronts the alienation of time, pushing human experience into new, alien modes of temporality that resist human comprehension. A xenopoetic approach to posthumanism raises critical ethical questions about how we relate to the alien other, whether technological, biological, or ecological. As posthuman subjects, we must reckon with the fact that our relationships with these alien others are no longer peripheral but central to our existence. Xenopoetics offers a framework for understanding the ethical implications of this encounter with otherness, emphasizing the need to develop new modes of responsibility that recognize the agency of the nonhuman and the technological. In her work, Braidotti stresses that the ethical project of posthumanism must involve an “ethics of becoming,” where humans acknowledge their entanglement with the alien other and develop new forms of relationality that respect the autonomy and agency of nonhuman actors. She writes, “Ethics in the posthuman era must involve a radical rethinking of subjectivity, one that includes nonhuman others and technological agencies”. In Blood Electric, Siratori presents a dystopian vision of a world where this ethical reconfiguration has failed: “We are subsumed by the alien logic of the machine, reduced to mere components in a system that disregards our desires and needs.” The novel serves as a cautionary tale about the ethical dangers of failing to recognize the agency of the technological other, suggesting that without an ethical xenopoetic framework, the posthuman future could lead to a dehumanizing collapse of individuality and autonomy. Haraway’s "A Cyborg Manifesto" serves as a foundational text for understanding posthumanism. Haraway argues that the boundaries between human and machine are increasingly blurred, resulting in the emergence of the cyborg—a hybrid of organism and machine. She asserts, "The cyborg does not recognize the Garden of Eden; it is not made of mud and does not like gender," challenging essentialist views of identity and sexuality. In posthuman porno films, this cyborgic identity is explored through characters that defy traditional gender roles and sexual norms, reflecting a fluidity of desire that transcends biological limitations. These films often feature technologically enhanced bodies that challenge the very essence of what it means to be human, allowing for new forms of erotic expression that resonate with Haraway’s vision. N. Katherine Hayles further expands on the implications of technology in human identity through her concept of "embodiment." In her seminal work, "How We Became Posthuman," Hayles argues that "the human is not a fixed essence but a dynamic and contingent configuration of a specific set of discursive practices". This perspective invites an examination of how posthuman porno films reflect and shape contemporary desires. By presenting bodies that are technologically mediated or augmented, these films challenge viewers to reconsider their understanding of intimacy and connection. The allure of the posthuman body in pornography often lies in its hyperreal qualities—exaggerated features, enhanced performance, and the blurring of boundaries between human and machine—which create new forms of fantasy and desire. Michel Foucault's theories of power and surveillance provide a critical lens through which to analyze the implications of posthuman pornography. Foucault argues that power is not merely repressive but productive, shaping knowledge, identity, and desire. In the context of posthuman porno films, the surveillance of bodies and desires becomes a central theme. Foucault states, "Visibility is a trap," suggesting that the act of being seen can be both empowering and constraining. In posthuman porn, the pervasive gaze of technology—through cameras, data collection, and algorithms—complicates notions of privacy and consent. This surveillance not only commodifies bodies but also reinforces societal norms around sexuality and desire, raising ethical questions about the representation and agency of the subjects involved. The ethical implications of posthuman pornography are multifaceted, inviting debates about consent, representation, and the impact of technology on sexual agency. As bodies become increasingly mediated by technology, questions arise about the autonomy of the individuals depicted. In a world where desires can be simulated and bodies manipulated, how do we navigate the boundaries of consent and agency? Philosopher and media theorist Jennifer R. Wolff argues that "as technology transforms the production and consumption of sexual media, it is essential to consider how these changes affect our understanding of agency and consent". The portrayal of posthuman bodies in pornography often complicates traditional narratives of consent, leading to a reevaluation of how agency is constructed in a digital landscape.