So my friend told me how his young nephew, who lives in another city, maybe thinks his uncle is a computer programme. This makes sense. Like all the other applications he is conjured by mouse-click; a flat, jerky man who by some disconcerting charm you can never make eye contact with. So, Picard-like, he points to the screen and asks for his uncle.
Ode (2010 AD)
Oh! You spirits of far flung friends! I have lost the memory of when you were flesh. Now you blink mysteriously on and off like the lights on a thunderbirds set. Your voices, your faces forgotten; light up your small green circles and appear to me...
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