Today no picture. Just pure thoughts. Maybe too many. Feeling little bit ill. Just took a hot bath, read a short story.
"Pretty Maggie Moneyeyes" written by Harlan Ellison. Very good style of writing, I like it. The story is cruel and sad like some stuff from the true life. Behind the first layer of words there was something strange. Now thinking if machines can have a soul. A mindset. A kind of personality......
How about the machines I work with? Strong and cruel, no mercy for the poor small pieces of hot metal which are fed to them. Hitting with the force of many tons, hammering the right shape with steel fists and burning like hell dripping with graphite sweat and drinking megawatts of electricity.
When I touch their cold bodies I can feel the rough skin of the casting, can smell the grease, can see the damage marks. Just like real humans. Even in their death they are similar to us. They are burned, melted and reshaped.