Wednesday, May 18, 2005
Metaman was a state-of-the-art, space-age creation, a stainless steel mesh weaving. His fiberglass veins electro-pulsed the blips of light that made him live. He had a twinkle about him, given by the reflective grade of his polished appearance. His brain was a cluster of magnetized staples hovering in his head. He was designed to live an independent, meaningful life. Since no one in the modern age knew anymore what that meant, they decided to observe him and find out. His first act upon activation was to gather together his television, laptop and cell phone and press them all together into a sleek little footstool of classic design. The scientists documented daily forays to the thrift stores. He systematically combed yard sales and flea markets, where he salvaged antique artifacts once used by everyone's great grandparents: A manual typewriter, a telephone with a spinning dial and a real ringing bell of metal meant to resound, even a gramophone. If an object didn't function, he'd fix it by twisting a paper clip into the intricate mechanism. No one could ascertain how he did this as the science of repair was a vanished art. His front door was like a time machine to another century. Nights he would put on Benny Goodman 78's and type away on his book, a treatise on the virtues of recycling.