Times have changed. Your savy-ness dims, and your disk space just ain’t holding what it used to. Your memory is fried. Your nerves are shot. You’re forgetting your history. You don’t know your RIM from your ROM; Your resolution seems foggy, but, here, take my hand.
Tell me the understory. I will notice the agony.
We’re so used to getting it in the palm, that we’ve learnt to look past what used to be right at our fingertips. If we could only give it more legs. Watch it walk.
Let’s leave the humans out of it. It turns on exactly when I want it to. It’s good at listening and calculating, and doesn’t give any back-sass. All it needs at night, is a soft little nudge into dreamland.
(so, come on give Siri a rest already)
Listen to this processing. It’s computer science. Is it so unnatural to want a little nip and tuck? So, your computer wants a little [Hotspot], and here’s what you gotta do: [plug] in or ship out.
Remember, Beauty is truth; truth, beauty.
© Umansky 2012
blog of poet, leah umansky 
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