By Ethan Le -- I wander empty rooms, mourning my beloved . I carry a glass mannequin, her fragile limbs trembling in my arms. I hug her tight, craving warmth, craving presence. I dropped her. I lost her again. Oh, Selene, why ?  I plead. I do not care. I grab the shards, hugging them once more. They pierce my chest, embedding in my lungs, slicing through a heart still stubbornly beating. Blood mixes with sorrow, but I do not let go. I whisper apologies to no one. The glass we

By Ethan Le -- The century teaches us to rely on robotics, playing friendly with an artificial being. We celebrate machines that string words together, while children in Gaza string empty water bottles across scorched courtyards, praying for a drop of rain in the barren wasteland. Knowledge once asked us to sweat, to wrestle with silence, to carve meaning by hand. Now we drift, weightless, our thoughts prefabricated, our days dissolving into the hum of servers. These machine

By DS Maolalai -- what will they do without you there tomorrow? likely the same things they'd do if you'd stayed. if the whole place were going to fall into pieces it would fall down then on you as well. go to athens – why not? they have reasonable fish at what I've heard are reasonable prices. go to italy too. we won't miss you because I know that you'll call. there is more in this world than a cleanly typed personnel document. I can't count the amount of times I've thought