Thursday, December 15, 2011

Soft Machine

Sometimes I am painfully or pleasantly aware of how human I am. How alike I am to everyone else, how different I am from everyone else. I take a moment to use my senses to their fullest, to marvel at the world around me and the vehicle I use to experience it. I flex my fingers, I inhale deeply. I think of the blood in my veins and the impulses winding through my nervous system and the mechanics of my eyes and ears. I see, I think, I feel, I am. I am an animal yet I am unique. I am machine, with many complex components and programs. I am animate. I am fragile.

At work with my mother today, many machines hummed with the exchange of information. An accident had occurred one building over.
Then, in an inexplicable instant, after Ms. Hart placed one foot inside, the elevator suddenly lurched up, its door still open, according to the Fire Department. It dragged her until she was pinned between the elevator and the wall, between the first and second floors, the police said.

How horrifying.

Of all the things Ms. Hart thought about on her way to work that morning, I don't think "I might die today" was one of them.

It doesn't seem fair.

What intricate, delicate machines we are.
Machines with programs to conceptualize and fight for things.
Machines with true intelligence, ability to learn and apply knowledge.
Machines with ability to use logic and reason.
Machines with ability to purposely ignore such things.
Machines capable of working together or independently.
Machines capable of great destruction or creation.
Machines that can collect and record many varieties of data.
Machines that can connect to each other in ways worth dying for.
Machines with ideas, beliefs, passions and questions worth living for.

Our world fascinates me.

I think that, no matter what I do in life, I will always appreciate it for the fact that I am alive.

Yep, sums me up pretty well.

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