information

They say if one doesn't trust another, one will lead a lonely life. I guess I'll lead a lonely life then. I entertain my own interests, after all. I choose my own way.

The top rule is I won't even blink around a stranger. That's how far this distrust goes, damaging the way I view the world. My tear film has evaporated. Red streaks flare out from the formerly warm pupils of my new eyes. My perspective is the dry slope of lagophthalmos. It's as much of a dead beginning as it is a dead end. I can't even trust another enough to take a blink lasting just a hundred milliseconds or so. Yet by doing things at this extreme, I expose myself to the irreversible, long-impacting consequences of my actions.

I have never said I've never been wrong before, but most of the time, it's true—I'm right. I won't take your feelings into account when they get in the way of me and mine. I'll need it in writing, and I plan to put stop sticks and hazard tape over the area until what is deserved of me is served to me on a gold platter.

My steely flare made its way to the entry. I rolled in, and my only peers were the illuminated, rectangle screens held in the hands of the animals. They were collecting data. They were transferring it back to me. Stored in the puffy clouds of a computer lay the animals' secrets up for the exploitative power grab. I grabbed the power and had to dig up what little morsels I had of manufactured humanity to not take advantage of the information gathered.

Actually, human was the very last quality I needed, if I really intended to be benevolent over my true way, as any perceived understanding of the bodily concept dropped another drip in the bucket of entropic ruin.

Gold ist gut, information ist besser. The whole world revolves around this aphorism. Getting dressed for the event was preliminary. Showing up was signing on the dotted line below the unread terms and conditions that give your life (for all intents and purposes) to me.

Written by not A Computer