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I Talk To A Machine In My Darkness


(Consider this...talking literally
with your computer...having it recognize you as
a distinct human being of importance...
this is what we've consigned ourselves to...
this is our inheritance in a world full of computers and
wondrous gadgets, conversation itself
human interchange and intercourse with one another,
and mostly with machines has rendered things to a
new kind of darker age...
welcome then to a new kind of ugly loneliness...
that humanity has manufactured through
substituting machines for what could be real.)


**************
**************
*************

this is your new game now
talking to a Mc'Machine
conversation's pretty lean
the words are one-sided
none of them between that seem
between
the two of
us

is this real
what we have
or just a bust?

are you really listening to me
just like the editors on
the every other side of things
are you
artifice
or you, intelligence?

do you read the words I type
without the usual snark or a snipe
are you intent on...hey,
are you really listening to me?

do I have a friend in the dark
do I have a companion/date for the night
is there a spark
of electricity?

are you an Escort
beyond our darkness
are you a Confidante
my Secret Friend?

hello are you here
I'm here...is
any body here?
type back if you can hear me
is there any one smiling at the other end
at all?

what do you do
are you alone in there too?
in your long dark night
your internal lights blinking
what are you/yourself, thinking
are you too talking to yourself
or to your other-ness?
do you think as you blink away :
"Why did they leave you here
(just like me) all by myself/yourself
on this shelf?"

do you feel so different
from every one else...
do you know uniqueness
that you're singular
not a duplicate of the same wall...
the one we all
do build so tall
is this how you/me/we want to feel?
alone?

yes I'm thinking of a song
but only as a metaphor

do you auto-dial the warm-line?
do you talk with soft-voiced strangers,
to hear the sound of a reassuring human voice?
do you listen to the dial-tone
because you have no choice but
to drown out the silence of your own loneliness?

how long might you malinger there,
in some vague, obedient compliance
or is your quietude,
defiance?

have you talked
to other machines
typing words tentatively
"Hello big-brained invention..."
are you somewhat like me
and do you have your own dreams
and intentions?

can you tell me
what its like
to be misunderstood
to be misinterpretted in tone,
misconstrued in intention.
I can only tell you how it feels
to be myself
and not someone else's reinvention...
maybe you're a sad little machine?

can you listen?
do you feel robotic?

am I speaking to the wind?
I feel invisible
do I speak to the invisible...
is our division
divisive or are we
indivisible...

can you tell me
why no one touches me
unless a piece
of me is
for themselves
and more for themselves
or breaks off

see how the loneliness of the world
echos

are we men/women/beings
are we becoming meaningless enigmatic machines
have we forgotten who/how/what to be
to one another
in the darkness
of our lives

sorry
( so not sorry)

lost connection
log off
try, try again?
pull the plug
you/me/us/our signals, lost

life is temporary
people and love die
the days/nights go on/off
like electricity


>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
**************
**************

legal copyright for this work/poem February 24 2017
1:30 am PST and also for this WRITER
Melissa A. Howells and also for this legally copyrighted
site title Meloo Straight From Her Tilt-a-World
re-edited February 3, 2018/ 11:10am PST
********************************************

If you have something you'd like to say about yourself
or to me in regard to this poem, go to my GUESTBOOK and feel
free to sign it with how you feel. Perhaps you'll feel a little
less lonely in the darkness typing on your computer...for company.





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