The humanity of automation...

Error! Robot! Overload. Operation complete is a daily subroutine, intended to be checked off and databased before wine hour with cheese. It's a contaminant of life's synchronicity, a block in normal operation. After all, when did you ever really abase yourself from the system? Cycling through predefined options, I take a repository of ideas with me on the road. I stop at local hotspots to get heated with spot-on commentary of a could-have-been moment, lucky enough to buy 25c sodas in subsidized vending machines. If I ever get that chance to dance around space with a gravity-filled vacuum, I'd sit down fireside with some physicists and spit in Zero G's. Enough to see suspended colloids roll back the top portion of my nose and submerge my face in vitrified water, I think I'd be ready to have a heart. I'd be ready to extend my hand and unplug myself from the wall. It's all that commentary that really got me the first time, so I might as well be talking by myself in the outer ether with earthy pride for the rest of my telomeric cellular life cycle.