Mazinger: technobeat Memorya

“The purpose of the poetry is not to try to dazzle us with astonishing thought, but to make one moment of existence unforgettable and worthy of existence.” –Milan Kundera, Immortality.

How do you handle tears?

Long time ago, I lost my pet. She's not a puppy, not a fish. No! Not a komodo dragon, either. She’s a Marshmallow. Mazinger’s her name. Met her in Elliot Smith Avenue under the techno-grayscale dull sky of Metropolis. I don’t remember her face; it’s like a dream. A beautiful dream; like Poetry. I don’t remember her voice, a dream, too? Perhaps beyond Past experiences walking in a Memory Lane, you know. I remember a post-it bannered in holographic vision in one of the billboard in Elliot Smith Ave. Lights blurred. Blinking, in boredom, endlessly, it seems. It says: You can’t escape loneliness. That’s not true, I said to her. We can escape this goddamn loneliness. How, she asked. Cheat. Everything. Cheat this motherfucker Megacity. She mourned, in silent. I answered her with a sigh. It’s that the way you handle your tears, she asked. Nope. We can’t afford to cry. This Atari System will kill us if we cry, I said. We are fucked. We are deprived even in our intimate solitude. Even in loneliness Deus Ex Machina is controlling us. In seven days, the God out there was bored.

Come. Dance with me, she said. Sorry, I don’t know how to dance. Cha-cha. No. Samba. No. Waltz? Maybe. Is this the way you handle your tears, I asked. Nope. We can’t afford to cry. Because the world doesn’t need us, she said.

I close my eyes. I jacked in to cyberspace. I saw visions, colors, and quasar-like environment. Dreamscape, I created. With her, illusions become real. Reality has turned into madness. An obsession. I luv you, I said. Is this the way you handle your tears, she asked. In this Cyberspace, No. Because after this night with you, everything will be certain again, resolute, reality, once again, is objective. Will you delete me in your microchip? She asked. I don’t know. Maybe, perhaps, I said. She sighed. I mourned in silent. Is this the way you handle your tears? Forget everything. Delete everything. Without looking back, without history? Nope, I answered. Kiss me, she plead. I kiss her. Is being in love being in passion or being in passion being in love? Last night, I dreamed of you. But you never met me until this morning, she said. How could you dreamed of someone you never met? I dunno. Perhaps, it’s a bug, a syntax error in the actionscript, I answered. So what’s the dream? I am aboard in the spaceship Alexandria. The spaceship is a self-entity Artificial Intelligence. Alexandria is coded with cybernetics and advance Information Technology, designed with advance Central Procession Unit it is the last living memory of the human race. So what’s got to do with me? She asked. You are Alexandria in my dream. You asked me to love you, I said. And we did make love. She smiled. You make love with a metal with a cybernetic brain? And then you asked me a question. I don’t really remember the exact question. But I do remember what I said in your query. What? I said: I choose to love. I choose to love you. I always choose to love you, AI. Always. I sighed. Her face covered with blankness. Her eyes were faceless, dead, silent nostalgia. Do you believe in eternity? She asked. No, I said. Because without time I’m waiting in vain.

Tell me, how do you handle your tears?