intimate strangers

I leave the party to return to my machine. It remembers everything I’ve forgotten. It warns me of the future. It reminds me of the past. It brings me old friends from childhood. It schedules my day. It sings to me. It tells the time. It surprises me with unexpected visitors and fascinating projects. It presents me fresh options. It offers good bargains. It is a chance to travel the world. I tell it new ideas. I present it thoughts too uncertain to test on people. It listens intently. It reflects exactly what I said. The machine is safe. I love my machine.

1 Comment

  1. Frances Kruk on September 21, 2005 at 12:46 am

    if i hold my machine on my lap it warms my thighs. if my hands are cold, i just touch them to its underside. it’s like a hug without arms. good little machine.

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