Freewrite – Of Machines & People Things

Freewrite – Of Machines & People Things

There’s a deep significance about this friendship we share, one that grew through virtual means. A shadowy voicebox social media clings, stereotyped man behind the curtain, yet from the dark things yields beauty, a blessing chiseled from the bee stings.

I know a young man I’ve never seen face to face who lives far across the world. Serendipity in a taxi cab brought us impossibly together, and we talk nearly every single day in a manner resembling those who grew up together. Two polar opposites, a soilder highly trained in the acts I seek to amend, to end, a hearty drinker, butch and conservative, avid extroverted.. the titles are endless, and somehow, sometimes it’s almost like we’re exactly the same.

He calls me Alpha. I like this.

I like this.

He believes in me. What in all the calamitous cosmos? All the fuckup parts and experiences that made me? Yet, he really does. Urges me on when I loose sight of hope, when doubt, fear, and the forboding bind me, he’s always got a knife handy to cut me free.

I do not speak this to you directly, to the space we share. The textile words do not carry so easily inside tiny white letters confined in blue boxes, but how dearly you mean to me. The universe tests, the illusions of tricks, and trickles on, but the reminder is clear: that we are all part of the same dream.

The man who plays opera aloud on his daily ventures just passed by my window. Anonymous to me, a vast entireity of all encompassed within his perception, and I am anonymous to you. But I hear you through the window, and only in this moment, oh how I do remember. Ah, how beautiful these human creatures are.

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