Thursday, January 8, 2009


ten attempts to get this factory going, all failed, leaving heavy damage in their place

empty floor tiles spread between each machine allowing them room to breath. their hallogen eyes have faded, rarely lighting up. they have shared this space together. I have allowed them to stay. the orginal model still hovers in the back. I keep a picture in the office in case he ever moves out

metalic music echoes from previous days of work. they stare at me with anger, contempt. their practically new, barely any signs of use. I lost every key long agoso I walk down the line to the next model, slightly different, but same designer. the synthetic covering curves over the mechanized insides, I admire his features, contemplating, slowly pull the control panel out and start him up, motion, music, movement, eyes open and flare out, cogs churn, electricity firing

hello, he says, I am eleven.without hisitation, it begins. metal to flesh, element to element, sirens flare, organic combines with computerized, keys turn and assembly begins, my skin is burned by the heat, the other machines, scream their chorus in the background, taunting and mocking. this lasts for minutes alone, it seems like hours

a small light comes onwarning of enternal error, a belt snapes, cutting my face, bolts pop off, steam rises from the middle. this too shall pass I say to myself as his eyes flicker. jolty movements, slowed gears, shut off, assembly has stopped again. the metal is cold to the touch now. I step back and admire his features once more

I am the collector of broken machines. many more to try, many more possibilities. I have only eleven to show
you think that'd be enough

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