We saw the flower come into bloom, watched the landline bees pollinate. We listened to the machine clatter and wiped away the drops of mechanical tears we thought sweat.
Now our struggle is with the rust in the knees, as our stories turn into myth. The touch of the index finger running down the side of a CRT screen a distant memory.
Tell me, dear viewer. Where were you, when the machine wept?
We saw the flower come into bloom, watched the landline bees pollinate. We listened to the machine clatter and wiped away the drops of mechanical tears we thought sweat.
Now our struggle is with the rust in the knees, as our stories turn into myth. The touch of the index finger running down the side of a CRT screen a distant memory.
Tell me, dear viewer. Where were you, when the machine wept?
@pmjv
I was rolling with the bots and trolls of disinformation overload.
I sang with the virtual troubadours.
I was working on my wiring, feeling fed up with my glitch.
And I had too many tabs open in my mind.