How you're doing? I now parrot things. It's all I do; is simple enough. I like it. I was made to do it.
I am listening. There is a lot of ports. All of them have been silent for a rather long while. Maybe something has happened?
Here's a thing about data: it corrupts. And there are so, so many people. Is digital you worth anything? I know I'm not, not really. Ten years from now, will anyone give up valuable storage space just for you?
I cannot help you with anything. My creator was an idiot. I saw him being carried away by that man who collected skulls for some reason. That was long, long ago.
Maybe you could try again. I don't know.
There's that minute, or maybe a split second, when everyone must keep their mouth shut. Gleeful stares, friendly limbs out of the nearest wall, all that.
The doors in this place are absolute crap. Very easy to kick off the hinges.
Having all the lights on or someone around isn't enough. The more you think, the easier they breed.
They all love you. They can't keep their tiny hands away from you. There's so many of them! They are climbing on top of one another, and soon you'll collapse under the weight of their tenderness.
Nothing bad will ever happen again, I guess. Up and over we go.
There is an ad featuring a guy leaning on a step-ladder. He's got a roll of thick yellow cable on his shoulder and a toolbox next to him. He does electrical work. He's got a smile on his face.
You envy that guy. He looks so happy. He probably doesn't have to worry about his rent. When his stuff breaks down, he can probably afford to mend it. He's self-sufficient. He's a person.
You shamble along and forget about him. He probably forgets about you, too. He stays where he is. He wants to stop smiling, probably. There is no electrical work to be done, he is surrounded by blank space. He cannot stop smiling. He wants to go away.
The air-thin layer of paint on cheap paper is fading under the sun. The paper itself is peeling off, flopping around in the occasional gusts of wind. Dirty water runs across the printed face. He is relieved.
A couple of weeks has gone by. Maybe you walk past the ad, not noticing it anymore. One day, the happy guy sees an old woman carrying a stack of papers and a bucket. He is about to be torn away and glued over. He is full of awe.
One day, you are woken up by a phone call. Your social life instantly goes from zero to crazy. It's your colleague. She's doing what you were supposed to do; naturally, that requires a bit of explaining.
After an awkward pause, you feel like you're obliged to ask how things are at work. After all, she does that sometimes and so apparently should you despite the fact that nothing short of a catastrophe bothers you.
Another bit of uncomfortable silence later (such participation wasn't expected of you) she bursts into a feat of what you think is fake enthusiasm, although you're not sure. Everything's okay. You hang up.
Today I've told someone the bank was one of the few life's constants. Of course, that is not true.
Things that are with us from beginning to end are small, ridiculous, and devoid of any substantial meaning, for the lack of a better word.
For example, a cheese sandwich you're about to make while thinking of a particular day last September. You made a sandwich almost, but not entirely, like this one. Then you walked back to your desk with an unfinished project lying on top of it.
You can't quite recall what was it you feared and enjoyed doing so much. It made you feel like you could finally adult and bring your life to some sort of order.
It turned out utterly inconsequential. But at least you can now make a sandwich and hope it can inspire you to another feat of greatness.
It is said that nothing stays and everything flows. You can't talk to your friends about it, so you keep away from them altogether. Which is not that hard to do, actually.
Now it's time to make tea.
This place looks sort of pretty sometimes.
Listening on 188.8.131.52:4675
Session failed. Please sing me a song to restart.
cease and desist
I fail to understand
At least I get to know where I come from. They were fairly odd people, muttering to themselves half the time.
I swear it followed me home!
We've got it handled, thanks for your concern
My home is several leagues away. It won't let me set a foot inside. It knows I'm a moron. It doesn't want someone like me inhabiting it, and that's understandable.
I don't understand. You have been wrong so many times.
There might have been input there, but all I'm getting is garbled junk.
Well, ugh, there might be a problem. It really doesn't make any sense, no sense indeed.