Damnable Turing Machine
(March 16/06)
I live in a technopomorphic noman’sland compliments of my insufferably dimwitted Turing Machine. I dare say an abacus would be a step up in technology. One of those orthopedic lifts would certainly quell the arrhythmia in the catastrophe that is my horrid analytical engine, so horrid, in fact, that no algebraic panacea could ever-possible put things right. 16 rams’bottoms aren’t sufficient enough to motor a simple calculator, let alone a CPU with a laggard’s penchant for sluggardliness. Perhaps if I whisper ever so softly in the conical ear of the Turing Machine god a new and improved remembering machine will appear through a fugue of oily alchemic dust, or not, I suppose. For the time being—time, as you know, being a poor judge of time and happenstance—I will plow furrows of pixel dust with the uneven keel of my damnable Turing Machine in excelsior glorious amen. Good night and may clods bless.
I live in a technopomorphic noman’sland compliments of my insufferably dimwitted Turing Machine. I dare say an abacus would be a step up in technology. One of those orthopedic lifts would certainly quell the arrhythmia in the catastrophe that is my horrid analytical engine, so horrid, in fact, that no algebraic panacea could ever-possible put things right. 16 rams’bottoms aren’t sufficient enough to motor a simple calculator, let alone a CPU with a laggard’s penchant for sluggardliness. Perhaps if I whisper ever so softly in the conical ear of the Turing Machine god a new and improved remembering machine will appear through a fugue of oily alchemic dust, or not, I suppose. For the time being—time, as you know, being a poor judge of time and happenstance—I will plow furrows of pixel dust with the uneven keel of my damnable Turing Machine in excelsior glorious amen. Good night and may clods bless.
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