From that high-pitched 'eeeeeeeeee' sound residing in my lamp to the tapping of me typing on my laptop to the atrocious 'new Khmer' music blasting from above my apartment. Nothing better~
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?