artisanal intelligence

i could do this for 30 more. blog on, i mean, to know one.

without family or friends to live for, others to serve, i join ranks with robots. back here in dataville, busted cyborg, the saddest existence of them all. true to form, pygmalion. once she's perfect, she's not, and the measure by which the grooming is perceived, disabled in the comment section.

i really want to kill my clone. stab her dead. if she's me, is it murder? clones don't bleed and can't be she. empathic suicide from the ranks of phone application. 

i must do this for at least 20 more. summon grandchildren from other people's kids. birth, death and property. i need an 8th house husband, taxation. summary of run-on sentences, earths timeline double helix. 

yesterday, on my way to church, just before the bridge, i saw andrea. guido. a former foe who friended me when i was at the height of disgrace, and plied me with day drink for three years to keep me at my docile lowest. literal troll. last she came around i boxed her head a little bit so she'd stay the fuck away from me. and there she was crossing my bridge, heading towards my house, on my hill, wearing a stupid pink tshirt. 

at least 10 more, until my mom's dead. yes, our aging parents are our responsibility, especially if you're first born female. paternity seeks future, maternity anchors past. ownership is like aura, it cannot be measured or established. own every day. own your blog. own what you say.