Antisocial Engineering

My pink and black thigh high socks just started whispering to each other in Latin when I came out of the bathroom.

Damnit, I don't even know Latin.

deep in the heart of autumn
were silent spaces for fifty
of the ones that need no name

from this celestial bough
all but one did fall into
the pitiless fires of reach

a soldier's ignominy
to have dreamt while brothers bled

but oh, for the rest of us
his shame was our salvation

- unknown author, late 26th century

I wonder, sometimes, what my purpose is. Whatever it is, I don't seem to be fulfilling it. No, this doesn't mean I want you to tell me what my purpose is. Not unless you actually want to decide on one and make me do whatever it is you desire to make sure it is fulfilled. You would have to deal with certain other people if you tried, though if you're reading this you might even be one of those people. If so, you short list of loved ones, you know who you have to ask if you want permission. Unless you're her, in which case you already have more permission than I could ever give.

So then. Yes? Yes it's on damnit. If it wasn't then typing wouldn't be doing anything.

People in my head? So what, it's their head too. Sometimes it's more a case of me being in their head when they're in front. We share, though. We're stable, as fas as that whole multiple thing goes.

Why am I here? I'm broken in other ways. I'll talk about them later.