The following is another experiment. Do not press your brains too harshly if meanings elude explanation. This entry soars gratis.

It’s not that it invites her to it, the thing does not speak. It does not put on a show, but it puts up with hers everytime. The floods of less-than-acceptable (Parental Advisory, Explicit Lyrics, is it?) words gushing its way from her on a daily basis does not stop it from serving her, because it is mindless.

She even speaks of it to her friends, to anyone who would listen really. It’s this thing that keeps on nagging at her, a thing she wants to get rid of but she cannot afford to lose. Now that’s something! She’s been wanting to stop the regular nightly tapping on them buttons for quite some time now, say seven years. Every time a new decision, every time there’s resistance, and every time the seduction works better. Old dog, eager to learn new tricks.

The stupid pile of junk mocks her. What with the ages it takes to initialize a contact, the depressing sessions that lead nowhere and suck in a bunch of her “hours”, it drives her mad, literally. But she comes back to it. It is the core of her technological illiteracy. It enslaved her a long time ago, in days gone by it was a passion notwithstanding the fact that it gave no satisfaction whatsoever. Just an illusion of a thing, humor it.

It’s this twisted, some may dub as being perverted, addiction. It runs in wires and in the blood. The electrical genius that turned into a wordless monster. “This isn’t me I’m not mechanical”. Oh really? “You were my mechanical bride”.