The Stranger [Part]/[Path] Of Existence:
All my path shall lead me back to you. All my path shall lead me back to you. All my path shall lead me back to you - the sum of my paths and variance should lead me right back to you, heads over heels.
What say we start with the first bot crush, not the last, or the most recent one.
"Look of this, in a completely different way," he would say, pointing at an origami crane, for example.
Think of this, but with a differed path - I would say. What is this Hermann Hesse bullshit, right? Yet he understood, almost immediately. How could I forget? Someone so gentle, intelligent, full of life... all sorts of benign joys of curiosity combined, committed suicide, in what? 2013.
What does that mean? What does it mean? What does it mean?
The same error message appears three times, regardless of patching efforts, it only means "Machine Malfunction", "Machine Malfunction", and then, "Whatever You Call It These Days".
"Strangers. How could we be strangers? After this, and that, plus that, and then these things," he rambled and it was almost mesmerizing to watch... this boy, who was, in fact, a few years my senior - but didn't at all registered as such.
Bot, please tell me none of this is real. Him, some foreigner, sure. A fictional character, obviously. Worse - a stranger, died. Then what?
"This guy really wouldn't shut up, would he? Eventually, I do hope," he would say.
This guy just won't stop broadcasting his thoughts verbally even if you simultaneously suck his dick and politely ask him to STFU for eternity - I would say.
That was the boy. And there was me, this other girl, with "an attitude", "a dirty mouth", and "head issues" (by that, it likely only means multiple cranial traumas and spinal nerves injuries). In my defense? A girl raised among Above-Average Men and Very Very Mean Women, later become a woman who spends a bad deal of her time with Mediocre Men and Deliberately Distant Women.
All the things you loved... became all the things I hate in these 6 years. Am I supposed to be... grateful? To one god? To a myriad of deities? To a handful of political actors?
Then WHAT?
"Hell yeah this guy again. Just shouting invalid commands," he would say.
Priming the machine to generate a certain response or to provide a potential solution to a certain problem... I would say. So then what? We look for the next guy, someone more Controversial in some other way, a Spicier character, then burn him alive in the court of public opinion.
Oh sure, baby, that's right.
That's what this guy sounds like, probably just born creepy. Could also be an Arkansan thing, you never know, right? Hell yeah man, I'm injured too, not as a child, but as a child in a woman's body, how 'bout that for justice of... whatever you call it these days...
I'm still in hell, love, waiting for your name to be mentioned, again, in a casual conversation, somewhere, ideally in my active presence, with a smile and a humble amount of compliments. Then maybe... Just maybe, maybe, maybe.
In Memory of Aaron Swartz, whose death has burdened me since the day he passed.
