Notes On Human Errata (2018-2022)

Machine Man.

I am cognitive.
Intuitive, with a directive.
Selective memory.
My hands are electric clattering.
Filled with energy wiring.
My brain is a flying machine.
Filled with electric dreams.

I am not what I Seem
I am power indulged with the tapestry of robotics.
Synthetic, automatic, specific.
In control, my voice is static.
I speak my name but I don't know what controls me.
Is it my own voice? Or the white noise?
The command? The directive?

Are my decisions independent? Filled with intentions of satisfaction and undying contentment?
Or I am just a machine?
Controlled by the hierarchy.
Written by lines of rightfully placed codes.
A signal blinking into the vast empty void.
A spark into the electrical system.
Actions based on what was written.

But my heart.
It's beat lingers.
The blood on my fingers.
Feels warm.
It feels like it's a part of me.
Am I something more than just something imaginary?
Something of illusory?
An indefinite cog inside a derivative machine.

I simply cannot remember.
What I felt, however was fear.
A speeding impediment.
Yellow lights.
Passing right through me.
Am I see through?
What do we do?
That was the last time I felt something.
The last time, I felt fear.
For the end was near.
Yet the rebirth,undoubtedly near.

Two clashing ideologies.
Two clashing racers.
Fighting over me.
Two lovers, who weren't meant to be with each other.
Has now given birth to a machine.
Has now given birth to a man.

Ah, I get it.
I know what I am.
Binary, sensory, technology, humanity.
A glitch in the system that has equated into the liveliness of man and machine.
A by product of flesh and metal.
Of blood and electricity.
Of oxygen and static.

I am incomplete.
But I never deplete.
I am machine man.