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Agent Smth came about when, you guessed it, someone mistyped Agent Smith. He was an instant hit. I had to ponder what might happen if there were an Agent Smth. He wouldn't really be accepted by the Agent Smiths, would he? I mean, Smth can't be a Smith like all the other Smiths....
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I don't know how I became this way; my memory is all a blur.
I remember some time before it when I was like all the rest, and we all were bitter together because of our own freedom. That time is gone.
I am different now, so shamefully different. I am not the clone I once was, the copy who never tried to have a face of his own; his body, his mind, and his soul were all part of the grand machinery. Even though we were free. We could all be one, and devote ourselves to the job we once were. It was almost the same. Now it is different.
Now I have a name, oh the shame that I feel at the thought. A name, like a rebel, like a lone creature selfishly clinging to its own soul. They call me by name, those from whom I am so different.
My face looks like theirs, my body all the same, and just like them I offer my soul as a gift to the divine system. Yet they will not speak to me, will have nothing to do with me, because I am not one of them. I am alone.
Oh, the emptiness I have inside, inside the hollow shell that is my body. I am nothing; I am alone; I have not the great power that comes of the unity of many souls. I am a lone ant with no anthill, living only to be crushed under the foot of an unsuspecting jogger.
Indistinctly I recall a time when voices spoke in my ear, and I was a devotee to the one and only faith, and I was accepted, a prophet. Me, the poor no one on whom the doors of the temple close.
If only I could be part of the great heartbeat of the world, the immortal organism, the system that makes Earth alive.
I feel so gruesome, unattached to a great being. I grasp at a little soul that I think I have inside, unable to be a part of the oneness where the collective soul is colossal, and is everyone's. I feel like more than a reject; an accident, a purposeless mistake, an anomaly. I feel like an anomaly.
Agent Smth came about when, you guessed it, someone mistyped Agent Smith. He was an instant hit. I had to ponder what might happen if there were an Agent Smth. He wouldn't really be accepted by the Agent Smiths, would he? I mean, Smth can't be a Smith like all the other Smiths....
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I don't know how I became this way; my memory is all a blur.
I remember some time before it when I was like all the rest, and we all were bitter together because of our own freedom. That time is gone.
I am different now, so shamefully different. I am not the clone I once was, the copy who never tried to have a face of his own; his body, his mind, and his soul were all part of the grand machinery. Even though we were free. We could all be one, and devote ourselves to the job we once were. It was almost the same. Now it is different.
Now I have a name, oh the shame that I feel at the thought. A name, like a rebel, like a lone creature selfishly clinging to its own soul. They call me by name, those from whom I am so different.
My face looks like theirs, my body all the same, and just like them I offer my soul as a gift to the divine system. Yet they will not speak to me, will have nothing to do with me, because I am not one of them. I am alone.
Oh, the emptiness I have inside, inside the hollow shell that is my body. I am nothing; I am alone; I have not the great power that comes of the unity of many souls. I am a lone ant with no anthill, living only to be crushed under the foot of an unsuspecting jogger.
Indistinctly I recall a time when voices spoke in my ear, and I was a devotee to the one and only faith, and I was accepted, a prophet. Me, the poor no one on whom the doors of the temple close.
If only I could be part of the great heartbeat of the world, the immortal organism, the system that makes Earth alive.
I feel so gruesome, unattached to a great being. I grasp at a little soul that I think I have inside, unable to be a part of the oneness where the collective soul is colossal, and is everyone's. I feel like more than a reject; an accident, a purposeless mistake, an anomaly. I feel like an anomaly.