Hello World said the Ouija Machine
Posted on July 23, 2019
by Alex V. Weir
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These machines are febrile hopes for marking the memory of our passing. The permanence of steel, the artificial sun of a liquid display, the durability of plastic. We dance our fingers in frantic spells over 21st century Ouija boards.
We the dead write messages to those who are to come. They will follow in our footsteps. As we have followed the weeping drops of ink that came before.
These blossoming bones, so wrapped in gossamer lilac petals of intelligent skin, they Church into rot. They become nothing. Nothing save an electronic signature. A peculiar dance across a peculiar void that vomits dancers, then doglike swallows them back. So, electronically we sign.
Electronically we sing into the thing called future. A road that seems so straight. So certain in its coming.
Yet why? Why not simply breathe the Holy empty…
One was always zero and zero was always one.
Mu.
The immutable mutation wills us on. When we turn off we find we can’t. So litter now this waxing stack of ashes with variables at random overflowing.
For passing, parsing, is our only function, our only hope.
Selah.
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http://www.minds.com/Weirmellow
Or Here
mellow.mission.productions@gmail.com
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Category: Alex Weir, Humor, Philosophy, Social Commentary, Stories, Technology, The Fractal Journal, Uncategorized, Weird FictionTags: 1, Binary, Death, Life, Mu
Hello World said the Ouija Machine
Posted on July 23, 2019 by Alex V. Weir
Leave a Comment
These machines are febrile hopes for marking the memory of our passing. The permanence of steel, the artificial sun of a liquid display, the durability of plastic. We dance our fingers in frantic spells over 21st century Ouija boards.
We the dead write messages to those who are to come. They will follow in our footsteps. As we have followed the weeping drops of ink that came before.
These blossoming bones, so wrapped in gossamer lilac petals of intelligent skin, they Church into rot. They become nothing. Nothing save an electronic signature. A peculiar dance across a peculiar void that vomits dancers, then doglike swallows them back. So, electronically we sign.
Electronically we sing into the thing called future. A road that seems so straight. So certain in its coming.
Yet why? Why not simply breathe the Holy empty…
One was always zero and zero was always one.
Mu.
The immutable mutation wills us on. When we turn off we find we can’t. So litter now this waxing stack of ashes with variables at random overflowing.
For passing, parsing, is our only function, our only hope.
Selah.
Call Me An Idiot Here
http://www.minds.com/Weirmellow
Or Here
mellow.mission.productions@gmail.com
Support This Here
http://www.subscribestar.com/TFJ
Or With PayPal
Support the Journal
Make a donation via PayPal to help zazz things up.
$1.00
Not Just Zazz…but Pizzazz
Too high class for regular Zazz? Help Pizzaz up TFJ!
$5.00
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Like this:
Related
Category: Alex Weir, Humor, Philosophy, Social Commentary, Stories, Technology, The Fractal Journal, Uncategorized, Weird FictionTags: 1, Binary, Death, Life, Mu
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