June, 2018

40 sheets of paper.

It cracked and seized, hundreds of gears churning into each other, shearing, sparks flying like rain like hail. Still pulling and twisting it continued to operate, mechanisms confused, eating through itself, no mind to worry about the consequences of what it might mean to be catastrophically broken. Lacerated and slowing down, I approached the monstrous thing. The light of the sky reflected across the sliced fragments of obsidian metal, razor sharp edges torn and chiseled where it was once smooth. I felt a strange pang of something like deja vu. Like I could recognize you, recognize us in this heap of contorted machine.