Theo-Motler. The Robot and his father
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You shook. I flaked.
The program bigger than any one invention then multiplied by thousands.
Millions if any one man can.
What happened to democracy was the right to give tech a go while being a no show in the head.
Stupidity reigns supreme.
It is fantasy. Fantastic. Just brilliant.
Clap your hands.
I count devices on your hands and the cyber threat on mine.
Mein. But then not. For truly Mein One through to Eleven is not One. It is not nation it is not, surely, the Holy.
End me but take the time to call this person One for this it shall always be. A Robot O'Father in multiples of grander schemes I stare you down and bite your tongue not I. But One.
Still thoughts of multiples of dozens.
We sink to depths measured precisely to swallow the tech guilt yet we learned not to read, or write, or speak our piece for peace.
Forget things. The past is the only truth going haunting a ghost our dead. Our death.
Motler, Leonard Augustine, 1888-1967 | libcom.org https://share.google/9vmdBTK0Vi2Yj9pvs
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