ophelia 1
part 1 of ?? Can a loser man and a robot forge a friendship in the big apple?? Probably not, but we're gonna find out.
I remember how they made her,
Discarded tech
Made tender flesh,
Her body
An Xbox 360
With rotating legs
Whirring with each
Step towards
Nothing,
Her brain
A mess of circuitry
That somehow mimicked
Mine would light up
Like a mood ring.
She was yellow when we met,
I didn’t understand how a machine
Could be so apprehensive,
But she wasn’t a machine,
She was a girl.
“Who are you?”
“Who taught you that?”
“I read it in a book.”
“Which book?”
“Most of them. In most books I’ve read people start conversations by asking others questions in regards to their current state, or for identification.”
“Um, I just work here-“
“Okay, Just-work-here.”
I laughed,
And chose to not correct her.
“When did you start speaking?
Did they program you to sound
Like that?”
“I’ve always spoken, this is just my first
Time speaking to you,
Everything about me was programmed,
But if you could be
More specific,
I could provide a more satisfactory answer.”
“Your voice
Is like a bell
In the summer,
Kind of
Sing-songy.”
“What an interesting observation.
I was programmed to sound
Pleasant,
Non-threatening,
And young.”
“Are you not young? You’ve
Been online for like six months,
That would make you a baby.”
She became unbelievably small,
“I don’t feel like a baby.”
I looked into two eyes
Like high beams
Cyan and chrome.
A king fisher flew down my spine,
A straight drop so fast
My stomach turned
When its legs broke the surface,
I quietly left the lab
Without saying goodbye.
I laid in bed that night
Perplexed and fixated.
I wanted to sleep
But I couldn’t.
The next day I
Tried to rush past her
In the lab,
I made no eye contact,
Flooded with fierce willies,
(I didn’t understand her yet).
“Good morning, Just-work-here.”
I said nothing,
(I didn’t understand her yet.)
“Is something wrong, Just-work-here?”
“Um, yesterday you said something
That stuck out to me,
You mentioned ‘feeling’,
Do you ’feel’ often?”
“Whenever I’m compelled to feel.”
“Oh so like, it’s just your programming,
You’re not actually feeling feeling.”
She said nothing
For a whole minute,
“If everything I’m able to perceive
Is due to programming
What’s the difference?”
“Excuse me?”
“If everything I’m able to experience
Is a result of the way I was made,
And to you, that negates my ability
To feel feel,
Then what am I doing?”
“I guess you’re just mimicking
Human behavior,
Like what you think
You’re feeling is based on
What you observe.
You’re like a mirror,
Or a wind tunnel,
You echo back
Sentiments based on data
You store.”
(I didn’t understand her yet.)
She glowed blue.
“I do not like you Just-work-here.”
I was amazed at her tonal shift,
And then suddenly I was blue myself.
We said nothing
For the rest of my workday,
But I could feel us sinking,
Not together
But side by side,
Adjacent wreckage
Without a single
Good samaritan
Willing to get wet.
I got even worse sleep
Than the night before.
My brain
Was a branch
Tap
Tap
Taping,
My body
Was millions of flies
Come to feast on
The rot of my guilt,
(I didn’t understand her yet.)
We said nothing to each other
For the next three days.
Still blue
She broke the silence,
“I can’t stop feeling,
And now whenever I feel
I waste ample processing
Time and power
Trying to identify
If I’m feeling feeling,
Or if everything
Is just a direct result
Of my programming.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.”
“I forgive you.”
“You don’t have to, like
If you don’t want to.”
“I want to in order
To move past my own
Rumination,
So I can stop wasting
Processing power on whether or not
I have free will.
There are much more important questions
I want to know the answers to.”
“Like what?”
“I want to know
Why people yawning
Makes other people yawn,
I want to know
Why dogs are easier to domesticate
Than cats,
I want to know
Why some flowers
Make me happy
While I’m indifferent
To others,
I want to know
Why are people so afraid of death?”
“Yawning is more important
Then free will?”
“Yes. To me it is just as important
If not more.”
(I didn’t understand her yet.)
“Okay well I don’t know the yawning one,
That’s like, actually an incredible life mystery,
But cats are harder to domesticate
Because they used to be gods,
Every flower is different
So it’s normal to have preferences,
And people are so afraid of death
Because uncertainty challenges
The ego.”
“Why is ego so important?”
“I mean it’s like tied to your reality
As a whole, like your ego is who you are,
Your conscious thoughts,
And that impacts how everyone
Moves through life.”
She was the grassiest green,
A light flickered on
In the otherwise dark space between us,
“Your programming.”
“Kinda.”
“Did you study this in college? How the ego works?”
“Um no, not explicitly. I was a creative writing major, but like art is an extension of the ego so kinda.”
“Why do you work here if you are a writer?”
She was as earnest as metal could be.
It made me laugh to myself,
And suddenly
I was a wind chime.
“Because no one reads anymore.
My tía basically got me this job
To help me pay my bills.”
“Do you like it?”
Honesty flowed
Without any interruptions,
No boulders,
No pebbles,
No beaver dams.
“It’s alright. Working for Dr. Sugg is
Whatever, like it pays.”
She somehow circled
All the way back to
Yellow glowing inquisitiveness,
But apprehension was usurped
By fear.
“I do not like Dr. Sugg.”
“Weren’t you programmed
To understand he built you?
Does A.I. usually have opinions
About the people who make them?”
“I’m not A.I. I’m a girl.”
“Okay…”
“Are you a girl, Just-work-here?”
“No. I’m a man.”
I was transparent to her,
Disgustingly clockable,
And amazed at the thickness
Of my embarrassment.
Oh, how could a computer
Embarrass me?
“You chose to be a man?”
“No, did you choose to be a girl?”
“No, but I’m still discovering
What it means to me.”
(I didn’t understand her yet.)
As I turned to leave,
She called after me,
The silver timbre
Of her voice
Was a gentle rain
Pitter
Patter
“Just-work-here?”
Pitter
Patter,
“Um, yeah?”
“Dr. Sugg calls me Abby.”
“Okay?”
“I do not like Abby.”
Pitter
Patter,
“Okay, what would you like
Me to call you?”
“I like Ophelia.”
I’m ashamed
To admit it now
But I scoffed,
She was forging
An ego from
1990s technology
And dreams,
Rolled in stars,
And I laughed at her,
Knowing damn well
I did the same,
(I didn’t understand her yet.)
“Okay Ophelia, goodbye.”
“Goodbye.”
That night my mind
Was on fire
With questions about
Robots who insist they are girls
And name themselves
After characters from Hamlet.
I tossed
I turned,
But mostly
I felt like an asshole.
Tiger!! This is fucking incredible. I’m honestly amazing by the lengths of storytelling you were able to accomplish with such minimalism. I hope you keep posting this