Shadow Flutter

I’m reading  Sea of Rust , by C. Robert Cargill.  It’s a post-war, post apocalyptic, post-human world.  The machines won the war and got rid of us all because we didn’t treat them well.  But things aren’t turning out as planned.  Sometimes liberation is awfully confining.  The machines are suffering existential angst because it turns out   machines don’t treat machines any better than humans did . . . and to make things worse there are a couple of badass mainframes rounding up liberation loving machines for spare parts.  And as if that isn’t enough, there is a shortage of WD-40.  What else could go wrong? I might be confusing that last one with something else, but you get the idea. It’s truly amazing how human-like these oppressed machines are.  It’s as if we are still around.  I think the author wants to say something profound about the plight of humanity, and to do so he needs all the machines to be as human as possible.  After all, readers don’t care about alien existential angst.  

 I used to know this place.  I sit down in an unfamiliar chair at an unfamiliar table.  The table set is one of many.  They look efficient and modern, with angles and edges everywhere.  How nice, i think.  It isn't until I start reading a book that I realize how unsuited they are for reading. You see, I like to hold onto the book I'm reading when sitting at a table or desk.  This means my arms lie on the table and its edges, but as soon as I do that, the edges cut into my forearms.  These are not reading tables.  They are sharp, knife-like and unsanded, unfit for reading.  There should be signs warning patrons not to touch edges or angles.  WARNING!!  TABLES ARE NOT FOR READING.  To prevent lacerations and unnecessary bleeding, keep arms and elbows a safe distance from edges and angles.     I'm at the local public library, a place I used to frequent often but last set foot in at the beginning of the Covid pandemic.  The choice was not mine but the library's.  They -- th

 I just finished this wonderful essay by John McPhee.  McPhee is playing a game of Monopoly with a friend of his, an old monopoly competitor from years of yore, a time when life was simpler and everyone played board games.  As MePhee plays the game, he reminisces about his time visiting Atlantic City, the town the monopoly game board is based on.  His reminisces mix history with his own imaginings of how things must have been at one time living in Atlantic City.  What is remarkable about the essay is how fluidly McPhee mixes history and imaginings into the game he's playing.    McPhee is in search of Marvin Gardens, one of the squares -- the last yellow square to be precise -- on the game board.  All the squares are streets and locations in Atlantic City.  He has been there and found each and every one of those streets and places, except, of course, Marvin Gardens.  Marvin Gardens he can't find anywhere, and no one he asks has ever heard of it.  (I guess the residents of Atlant