| Diary of a Software Inventor by Jacqueline Marcus | ||
Reflections on Jorge Luis Borges |
Suddenly, the man seated next to me in the back cubicle, the one who was always self-assured, dignified with quietude, subtle with words— cried out in horror, a most unpleasant, "NO! Pleeeeease! Don't do this to me!" It sent a shiver down everyone's spine. A silence as cold as Stalin's fist overcame us. Moments later, it aroused, as usual, the complacent feeling that, "it is his computer, thank God, and not mine." Yes, the man seated in the back cubicle lost all his files. Every single company file. Could he blame it on a virus? No. Unfortunately, it was his own stupid fault. And therefore, he was promptly fired. *** Time passes. I must update. I must download. I must take a vow to never never lose the company files. *** You see, I work for ____ and mistakes are absolutely forbidden. Pressure must be applied—if I intend to gain an even higher salary than within the orbit of my, dare I say, limitations. *** The horror of it! *** Last night, I dreamed of small chips, small chips, whirling round, smacking me in the face like an arrogant, high-fashion model—clapping her heels on the Palace floors a long way off, the digital numerals arranged themselves with Einsteinian elegance. Perfectly contingent. I must seek the numerical order! I must! I must! I MUST!! I woke up with a flash and then – a "What?" *** What do you mean, You can't remember?I can't remember. *** The man seated in the back cubicle has been replaced. He sits quietly like the rest of us. Only the tapping of keys can be heard from the ceiling, looking down, only the hum, the perpetual hum – of a hundred computers is heard. And higher still – the erratic honking, of Silicon Valley, where a black suit waves down a taxi, oblivious. __________________________________________________________________________ JACQUELINE MARCUS is the editor of ForPoetry. Click here for A Note on the Editor.
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