Category: Uncategorized

“Only I am human,” he hisses. His heel digs into a little silver face, the metal thrumming with pain signals racing towards the machine’s brain. “Now clean the floor, I want this done by tonight.”

The machine with a human face is silent.

“I am a human,” he says a year later. The new neighbours stare at him, pupilless eyes focusing on him with a soft click of shifting gears. “Don’t worry about the rumours that my kind is, well, ah – I assure you that we’re not dangerous. I want us to get along.”

The silver-faced family is silent.

“Please, please,” gurgles out of his throat five years later, the chrome of a sterilised table biting into his naked back, “I’m only human, I can’t hurt you. Please, oh – oh oh God, I beg you. I beg you. I’ll do anything you want.”

The perfect, silver human above him blinks. A hand lifts into the air, waves, and a crowd of more silver and gold and blood-smeared copper approaches.

They surround him, metal fingers on his ankles and wrists, and they are silent.

“Watch closely,” the perfect, silver human says. “I want all of you to pay attention and document this properly. You do not see a species taking its last breath every century.”

procrastinates:

troylers-bae:

backthatassbuttup:

edgebug:

(x)

well it took me about 2 seconds to reblog this

HOLY FUCK

????????????

Having a bad day? Having a bad week, month, year? 

Take a few minutes of break to listen to this, and I guarantee that the beat of this freakflipdamn amazing remix hypes you right into a good mood.

Source: cliffordccino

“You’ve changed so much!”

Thank you.

“I didn’t exactly, you know, mean it as a compliment.”

I know, but I’m taking it as one.

“It’s just… I never thought you’d end up like this. Look at what you’ve become.”

I am looking, every day.

“Seriously? You see yourself and still don’t understand?”

I understand.

But do you?

I think we could learn a lot from the robots we’re building. Imagine talking to a machine fitted with an artificial intelligence that can communicate with us. We’d ask so many questions, just because we hope for something new so badly.

So we’d go to the robot and ask, “What’s your purpose?”

The robot would make a little beep or whatever noise it chooses to signify processing of data. “My purpose is whatever you programmed into me,” it would say.

And we’d be disappointed. Because that’s not new. “Oh.” Already thinking about ways to change the robot, we mutter to ourselves: “Aren’t you lucky, knowing exactly what you’re meant to do.”

The robot hears that, of course. Maybe it would laugh, maybe not, but it would certainly reach for us in its own way of soothing. And if we’d listen closely, I’m sure we’d hear pain in its emotional voice.

“Aren’t you lucky, choosing exactly what you want to do?”

A story is a story is just a story.

True. And more false than anything.

Our fairy tales and legends, our myths and harbingers and endings, all the ink-whispering hope against our eyes and ears, they cannot be broken into anything less than proud, wild stories.

And, more than anything, a story is never ‘just’ this or ‘just’ that.

It is everything, and it allows us to become.

Don’t be scared that you’ll have nothing left. You know, child, the universe used to have nothing and it disliked that so very much that it decided to exist. And to make sure that nothing would ever be nothing again, it said:

Above all, there will always be something left.