The gentle breath of digital cogs wheels me on, whirrs me into so-called productivity.
It’s the hardware really, I work with an old, well-used machine.
My feed is not an echo chamber – sometimes there are things there that make me sad and ashamed. I can’t always engage because I don’t have all the time in the world.
The hostility that might meet me would drain me of my life blood.
The electric runs through these wires, provides a receptacle and a dispenser for hate that’s displayed in my screen – I read it, my eyes take it into my heart and I learn again the state of the world and what we’re dealing with.
A bloody tradition defended so viciously by people who are made of delicate flesh and bone.
Why do you, a creature of blood, yearn for the spilling of an innocent?
Why do you defend the cruelty of those that would tear you apart if you were in a different body?