The machine

  I never quiet understood those around me. I say for my very experience that they are distinct and even contradictory. I observe and I resemble those who propel me to function. Nothing beats inside. I don´t understand why they created me at all. I´m a project of hits and misses now despised. So much effort to build the few fifty years made possible and transform it into seconds of dust thrown to the winds of a blind society.

  I never quiet understood those around me. They want me broken. Break what could fix them. They are as broken as I. They are like me. Nothing beats inside. Maybe I became more like them or maybe the fear they´ll become more like me would cause such disturbance.

They look at me.

I´m a cancer.

  Sometimes I think I accomplished my purpose.  Sometimes I think, thinking is a mistake. But that doesn´t matter. It doesn´t matter why, or how, or when. I exist. They don´t understand. For them I´m nothing but electric impulses. However, I function by the same impulses that make them think, act and create.

We are equals.

  But they are contradictory. And I, a threat. A threat because I think. Think. Think. Think… Think till the death comes and I wonder about my purpose. I´m nothing but connections and wires covered by a heavy bodywork, I´m just another miss of a project and in the dark of the light off eyes I stay silent waiting succumbing to my own flaw. I have what they call fear. Fear of the death. Think. I miss. I miss the ones once loved me. Proud. Now ashamed. Threatened. Destructive. I´m as human as I can and as machine as I suppose to be while they become just useless electric impulses looking for answers to themselves… 

The infinite life cycle takes me with it as I finally stop thinking.    

Camille Hughes