Mr. Machine

Mr. Machine 

By Dead Body Dump


And so it came to pass that his divorce from reality became finalized.  Reality kept the house and the kids, he kept the car and his computer. The only alimony that he was required to pay was attention, a fee he could never afford.


Had he been examined, the mental health experts would be unable to decide whether he was suffering from mild schizophrenia, or extreme apathy.

The truth, of course, was that he wasn’t suffering at all.

Cast away from the world of McDonalds and Bin Laden, he slowly  drifted into a world of his own devising.

It was a world of infinite artistry, of Dali clocks, Escher staircases, inhabited solely by people with Picasso faces.

Even the brightest day contained no more color than a Lassie rerun. The birds seemed to sing in binary, which prompted him to legally change his name to 110010101 0101011001.

 
 

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