Thursday, September 24, 2009
A Digital Cemetery
It is a sorriest sight: heaps and piles of old computers scrambling amidst outdated and obese monitors. These gawk blatantly at the broken printers which soar in a column almost to the paneled ceiling, towering above the stacks of discarded keyboards.
The silent machines cower forlornly, huddling close, as if surviving the abandonment in-group would lessen their pain and fear; as if they are counting on their strength en masse to transition into either a better life or oblivion. If only they can withstand the heat, the dust, the casual tumbles, the time. They have been waiting patiently, looking out the glass windows to the industrial mall beyond, to see cars of all sorts, brands, shapes and colors getting in and out of the gray parking lot.
Lately, even the windows are being hidden by the piles and heaps of incoming machines bearing similar names–names that they have long ceased to be proud of. Their names used to be their trophy, displayed with so much pride. Ask them. They were once The Dells, The Hewlett-Packards, The IBMs, etc. Their names alone were worth millions. But look at them now; now used, now obsolete, now slow, now awkward-looking. Their shapes are odd, their faces dull, their innards filthy and loose.
Why are they still here, inside this shop, tagged as "PAID", labeled with, "To be repaired." Why are they here, as if to commiserate a glorious past, when their shapes still count, their looks sell well, their worth are based on their intelligent design, their wonderful memory, their multi-tasking skills, their calculation methods, and their effective solutions.
Now they are a sorriest lot–gray as tombstones, numerous as tombstones, forgotten as unmarked tombstones.
They are here, to bear witness for progress, for the quick automation of life, for the human impatience, for creation and destruction that go hand in hand like two old lovers– hating, yet needing one another.
¶ 9:24 PM
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