Information age complicates everything, if things could be explained simply, I start to think too much.
Simple times, simple things, is more like my ethos -- turns on medieval 2.
To drink energy drink, or not...
...That is the question, question of life or peace of mind.
--Image doesn't compute, but a piece of Giorgio Cavazzano's 2000's earlier comics would fit this post.
Holds a computer screen in my hand, at Hamlet theater play.--
A given mission, mechanical assault, manufactured devotion.
Red eyes, an upside-down form. Even the twisted shape was made to be that way.
No matter how cruel the slaughter, worse than a demon's,
or how gentle the kindness, greater than an angel's,
a machine has neither will nor madness—only code, and a few bugs.
So why, then, does it feel so unbearably sad?