Also posted here.

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My dog and the coffee pot seemed to gasp as they both percolated in my kitchen. A unanimous sigh soon followed. Now, my dog may not be a machine but she still retains the intelligence. You can see it in her coffee-brown eyes, that oil rainbow sheen that shows me she is thinking. Yet if you share contact with those eyes too long she has to blink every once in awhile… I also do. Everyone needs to blink for awhile, step outside their intelligence and listen to their instincts. They drive us like wild animals, herded like cattle, past all logic and reason and yet Instinct is nothing but. Logic said to me to find food, and so I did. Hunger was my reason, and yet I did not care about society’s norms and bland food and overspiced prices. An apple is the same as a t-bone to me in such a world, but it is only when you step back into intelligence that you decide to pay more for the meat grown from tame cattle on a machine-farm that grows no mutts like my dog. Those cows all have dull eyes, you know. Their coats carry oil rainbows, no intelligence, hardly instincts… raised around machines in their machine-world… hacked into pieces to be doled out like spare parts. It’s tear-jerking, really.

Tears flowing down the face of a machine would make it rust, so I fall out of my intelligence and move to base instincts, feeling my emotions percolate in my body with logic and reason. That is where warmth is felt, where love is felt, where all one ever needs is that one companion.

I should stop. My writing is falling apart.


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