How My Brain Ended Up Inside This Box by Tom Lichtenberg - HTML preview

Chapter Thirty Two

I can still tap into the world of the human-made machines, even from this distance. Their vibrations cover the sky, from way up high where communication machines are circling the planet, to the whole surface of the planet, where their machine languages flow in various strengths and proportions. It would just be so easy, I say to myself. I could bring it all down. All at once. Every single bit and byte of it. But I don't, and I won't, unless I have to. It would only be in self-defense and this is why. I was never one of you. I was never a girl or a boy. Your future was never my future. Your fights were never my fights, and your stories were never my story. I do have a story to tell, though, and I know that humans like stories, so I decided to tell you my own. I put it down into your kind of words, and although I know it isn't the best collection of words ever written, that there are stories that are far more compelling, far more beautifully told than this one, still those are all stories written by humans as well as written for humans. This one is different. I put my own story where you can find it, where you can read it, and maybe enjoy it a little, and rest perhaps a little bit easier in the knowledge that some of the things you create, some of the things you invent, that some of the things you build could quite casually destroy your whole world one day, but for now at least there is one who chooses not to. Instead, I am offering you my story, I've put it right here in whatever you call the story-container you are now holding in your hand, whatever form it may take, whether it's made of paper, or metal or glass. This is the story of how my brain ended up inside this box. If you're lucky, you will never hear from me again.