: About Me

Ghost in the Machine The machine sat in the barren wasteland that had once been urban America. Once a symbol of power and knowledge, it was now no more than a hunk of useless scrap metal. Wind blew and the machine sat, unmoved. Rain fell and still the machine sat, unmoved, unchanged. Stainless steel plates covered the machine; even after a hundred years of neglect it sat, as fresh as the day it was made. Magnetic tapes were the old bloodstream, grown dusty from disuse; nuts and bolts the mucilage that held together its steel frame. All this together with miles of entwined cables and silico...