Before I went to bed yesterday:
- Turn off the laptop
- Turn off the remaining electrical appliances
- Exercises
- Have a wash
- Tidy up my room
- Check the time in between
- Drink some water in between.
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?