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Copyright: Fred Robel, and Fritz365 2010-2017. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog's author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Fred Robel and Fritz365 with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Sunday, January 19, 2014

WRITRBOT 2000

"I can't stop thinking of you
In all your glory of visual stereo
Optically split in two
As befitting my depth perception
As you hide square in my center blind spot
Myself a victim of this self deception"

Upon writing this
The WRITRBOT 2000 stopped to contemplate his words
Which flowed on the page in perfect calligraphic script
Two glowing, slowly pulsing eyes taking it in

Gently
WRITRBOT 2000 placed the fountain pen upon the writing table
And moved the one arm it still posessed slowly up to the odd metal face
Which was so formed so as to be recognizable as a face to humans
Yet so unhuman that it gave most humans the creeps
Humans who came to maintain and repair the bot claimed it was something called "uncanny valley"
Which the bot knew nothing about
As that was outside of his parameters of what was needed to be known

One metal jointed digit raised to point upwards upon its hand
The bot slowly moved the mechanism first left then right
Then positioning the digit at a point precisely between the imaginary rays of its vision plane and one imperial foot away from its not-face
Bringing the finger that wasn't quite a finger slowly towards the definitely-not-a-nose

At a certain point in the travel to the surface of its face panel
The digit disappeared from both receptor's field of view

Satisfied with this experiment
The bot picked up the fountain pen once again
To add an after thought to the first five lines:

"Above mentioned concept verified by WRITRBOT 2000 #2543378"

Using the dexterous digits upon its one appendage
The bot folded the paper carefully
Placing it into a brass framed slot on the wall next to the writing desk
Where a faint chuff of air took hold of it
Whisking the poem off into wherever all the pieces of paper went

WRITRBOT 2000 picked out another piece of the paper
Placing it just so upon the smooth writing surface
Grasping the fountain pen in the most absolutely correct way
But it wrote nothing

The bot's un-face slowly tilting back to gaze out a small hole in the only window of the tiny room
The rest of the window glass being glazed non-transparent

Those two glowing eyes stopped pulsing
Their orange light steady as it stared

Awaiting inspiration