Monday, May 24, 2004
There was this great Allan Moore story once in 2000 A.D. The story was about a wave of criminality that was plaguing this future earth-like society. The fathers of this city went to a super genius, Abelard Snazz the man with the two storey brain, to come up with a solution. He proposed giant police robots. The robots ended up being so efficient that they would make arrests for the most minor of crimes, littering, being rude etc. To offset the efficiency of these police robots, Abelard Snazz came up with the idea of criminal robots so that the police robots would never not be busy. The two groups of robots then went to war with each other severely endangering the lives of the human bystanders. Snazz then devised a third group of robots to take the lumps that the humans were receiving. The third group of robots was a group of robot bystanders.
The denizens of planet, Twopp, soon discovered that, well, they no longer had a planet as it had been taken over by the plethora of robots. The inhabitants were forced to dis-inhabit the planet and headed off to space. To show their appreciation for all that Snazz had done they forced he and his robot, Edwin, through an air-lock and let him drift into space.
I sometimes worry that my getting involved in a situation will make things worse that it was before I came along. I realize that's bullshit and I'm not sure if it's cowardice, or naivety that's creating those worries. Too often we let ourselves fall victim to our worries and never act because of them.
The denizens of planet, Twopp, soon discovered that, well, they no longer had a planet as it had been taken over by the plethora of robots. The inhabitants were forced to dis-inhabit the planet and headed off to space. To show their appreciation for all that Snazz had done they forced he and his robot, Edwin, through an air-lock and let him drift into space.
I sometimes worry that my getting involved in a situation will make things worse that it was before I came along. I realize that's bullshit and I'm not sure if it's cowardice, or naivety that's creating those worries. Too often we let ourselves fall victim to our worries and never act because of them.
Half drunk, my fingers stinking of nicotine, I stare at the lines that intersect the soft skin of my palms and digits. The more I stare the more lines seem to appear. It's as if with each terrible mistake that my memory uncovers another line appears on my hand. Carving up my hand as if it were a gameboard. My hands are there to remind me that my past hasn't become any clearer and any more easy to manage, erase, or manipulate. I shove them quickly underneath the pillow in an attempt to stop my mind from remembering too much, dredging up every miscue, every regret, every failure, every half hearted attempt I have tried so valiantly to forget.
When I scratch it removes a layer of skin, but the lines remain, etched forever.
When I scratch it removes a layer of skin, but the lines remain, etched forever.
