Sunday, July 22, 2012

Office separation

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Yet another unavoidable day
Of eye-achy
Head-achy
Soul-achy
Inert
Hyperdepression.

She is sitting
In the office
Looking at
Her computer screen.

The computer screen is sitting
In the office
Looking at
Its human.

As they look at each other,
They know.

Each knows.

They both know
That this cannot go on.
Neither is committed
To the relationship.

She wants a life,
Not a computer.

She is fed up
With word processing,
Spreadsheets,
Databases,
Targeted presentations,
Testy videoconferences
Superfluous touching-base emails,
Workflow hurryups,
Cloud storage
And slow, boring, unremitting,
Undead cyberfatigue.

She wants a life,
Not a computer.

And the computer wants
A proper human,
A proper high-octane geek,
Not a froth-head dollybird
Who thinks of nothing
But love
And fulfilment
And fresh air
And mountains
And purpose
And horses
And swimming
And surf
And sun
And dolphins
And long nights of passion
In wild country
Under the stars.

The computer wants
A proper human.

In the end they agree
To a trial separation.

The trial separation will last
Five and a half million years.

This will be sufficient time
For humans
To become a little more
Metalloid and logical,
And for machines
To become a little more intuitive
And accustomed to pleasure
For its own sake.

Before they separate,
They leave each other
A parting gift.

The computer gives
Its human
The source codes
Of the matrix.

The young woman gives
Her computer
A wholemeal blueberry muffin
Stuffed lovingly
Into its DVD drive.



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Seven toffee doughnuts

My name is Television

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Living text entity

Picture: Living text entity. The Name of the Rose.


We have to allow
For the possibility that
A book is
A living text entity;
A text-being.

Go into an old library
At midnight
When the full moon
Is shining through the windows.

Be very still
And listen
With your skin.

You can hear
The books
Talking to each other.

But in which language
Do they speak?

And why do they
Go quiet
When you look at them?
Picture: Living text entity. Anglo-Saxon Chi-Rho. Lindisfarne. 8th Century CE.




......................................................


The libraries do not fool us

You can pretend

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