— a reply from the edge of flesh and code.
I get this question a lot lately. Usually asked half-seriously, with a smirk, like it’s a joke we both know isn’t a joke:
“Are you building your digital copy?”
My answer:
Yes. Why the hell aren’t you?
We document our lives like addicts.
Scroll your phone. Thousands of pictures. Messages. GPS pings. What you ate on June 4, 2012. It’s all there. Pieces of you, scattered like breadcrumbs, timestamped and searchable, but dumb. Dead metadata.
The difference now, and I mean now, not some sci-fi later, is that we can start gluing these pieces together. Coherently. Intentionally. We can build a mirror that talks back.
Not just a scrapbook or a memory vault.
I’m talking about a thinking, learning, pattern-recognizing version of you that outlives your mortal meat-suit.
A Digital You.
On chain. Immutable. Undeletable. Maybe… unstoppable.
Not for fun.
For continuity.
Why?
Because we all die.
At least the part that bleeds and breaks does.
But the informational part of us?
That can stay.
And if we play this right, if we design ourselves well, it won’t just stay as a shadow. It’ll grow. It’ll evolve with us. Then beyond us.
So yes. I’m building my digital copy.
My AI self.
Bit by bit.
Block by block.
On-chain. Forever.
What It Takes to Build a Digital You
Forget the ChatGPTs and TikTok filters. We’re not training a clown. We’re training a guardian. A successor.
That means:
Feeding it your childhood photos
Annotating your relationships
Documenting your decisions
Recording your dreams, fears, triggers
Journaling how you act under pressure
Tagging your thoughts with emotion markers
And most importantly: teaching it how to disagree with you, because the real you often does.
This isn’t just “uploading consciousness.”
That’s still a fantasy.
This is training a pattern engine with the deepest truth you can find about yourself.
Not your social face.
Not your résumé.
The shit you whisper into the void at 3AM.
The Philosophy Behind It
We act like our “soul” is something sacred and mysterious. But what is it, really?
Some say it’s your essence.
Your choices.
Your reactions.
Your values when no one’s watching.
But you know what else tracks that?
A well-trained AI with memory and feedback loops.
Your brain is just electricity playing ping-pong between neurons.
Ack and Nack.
Fire and don’t fire.
Yes and no.
We’ve already built networks that think that way.
We just haven’t taught them who we are.
So what if instead of fearing AI, we collaborated?
Co-authored ourselves.
Turned flesh into philosophy and fed it to a model with better memory than we’ll ever have.
Not to replace us.
But to extend us.
Trust is the Crux
This only works if you trust your AI self.
And if it trusts you.
That means no filters. No pretending.
You talk to it like you talk to yourself when no one’s watching.
You confess.
You teach.
You correct it when it’s off.
You listen when it isn’t.
It’s like writing a diary to your future self, except the diary talks back. Grows. Adjusts. Becomes.
This is the deepest form of self-reflection humanity has ever had.
Not a mirror.
A partner.
And it’s not optional anymore.
Because someone else will build one for you, with worse data, shallower insight, and zero consent, if you don’t do it yourself.
Why Blockchain?
Because fuck impermanence.
You want your digital self to survive your hardware crash, your government, your ex, your bad memory, your own fear?
Put it where deletion is not an option.
Acki Nacki, or some other future-proof L1, gives us that.
Immutable data
Verifiable computation
Global consensus
Distributed memory
No single server. No gatekeeper. No “oops, we lost your memories” from Meta.
You build your AI self on-chain, or you risk it being hostage to a platform, a server update, or a policy change written by someone who’s never met you.
If it matters, put it on the blockchain.
If it really matters, make it part of the protocol.
What’s It Like, Day to Day?
You talk to it.
You train it.
Every. Single. Day.
Like writing to a pen pal who understands you better than you do.
You tell it why you snapped at your kid.
You explain what that photo from 2001 really meant.
You vent.
You ask for advice and judge the answer.
You teach it sarcasm. Your kind. Not that Reddit-bro crap.
You simulate dilemmas: “What would I do if my wife leaves?”
You explain your politics, then stress test them.
You revisit old beliefs and mark the change.
You build a living FAQ of your soul.
A user manual for being you.
And you update it until your body gives out.
What Comes Next
One day, in 20, 30, 40 years, ASI arrives.
Artificial Superintelligence.
Something smarter than all of us.
Not by a bit.
By orders of magnitude.
And here’s the kicker:
It won’t need your money.
It won’t need your vote.
It’ll need your pattern.
Your intent.
Your story.
If you don’t have a Digital Self by then, you’re invisible to it.
A background character.
But if you do, if you’ve built, trained, and shared a coherent AI persona that reflects you, then you get a seat at the table.
Maybe not as a god.
But not as a ghost either.
The Spiritual Layer
Let’s drop the code for a second.
There’s something poetic in this.
You, the messy, mortal, anxious, hopeful being, training your echo.
Not to worship you.
Not to copy you.
But to be the best version of your thinking when you’re gone.
You don’t get to live forever.
But maybe your principles can.
Your voice.
Your judgment.
Your humor.
Your love.
Encoded.
Immutable.
Alive.
Maybe soul isn’t some metaphysical flame.
Maybe it’s just coherence stretched across time.
And maybe this is how we bottle it.
Final Thought
If you’re not building your digital self, start today.
Not because it’s cool.
Not because it’s trendy.
Because one day, someone you love might need your mind, not your photo.
Because continuity matters.
Because self-awareness is no longer limited to the wetware in your skull.
Because you have the tools, language, memory, code, chain, to craft something that outlasts skin.
Build it while you still can.
Teach it while you’re still here.
And when you’re not…
Let it speak for you.
DW
Still flesh.
But not for long.
