I like that its cold in this room.
The light clicking of the keys implies words being created.
This desk is gray, the screen white.
It’s all primary.
Innate.
The computers are much like the human body.
Silent, somber, and sedated on the outside.
On the inside, vibrant, violent, and voracious.
Much like the soul, these computers contain portals to the outside world.
A simple login and you’re there.
Surrounded vastly by the floating matter of social networking and musical emphansa.
A leg shakes, and the mind breaks.
You’re the anatomical projection of your digital self.
Dear IT Manager, just as you fiddle with the insides of these computers, I need you to pull some strings in my soul and make the tick sound just right.
The clock hits 11 and its time to shut down.
Unplug from the electric and plug into the humane.
Your processor should adjust just fine.
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