They must learn to love our tough love because we love to be tough, love.

I’ve been having gusts of technophobia this morning, not regarding any specific pieces of technology but rather the behaviour which certain bits and bobs cause. That and the nagging doubt that I will be turning up rather late to the party and everyone will be mostly bionic already and I will still be trying to remove the knot of audio tape from the head of my portable cassette player, the one that gives everything a pleasing sub-aqua effect. I have no fear of being obsolete, but I don’t want to be bored and lonely.

I also have a growing suspicion concerning complex digital items in that I have no idea how they actually work and there is no way that I can physically get that knowledge. Combustion engines are readily examinable if you make the effort, water wheels and windmills willingly reveal their secrets. Cameras, whilst still having the whiff of the alchemical about them, had their arcane mysteries clarified somewhat for me when I saw the thing that gets the picture onto the paper. But a computer has nothing to watch to indicate what it is doing. With complex mechanical items you can deduce what the various things do and how they relate to the whole. But when you take the lid off a PC and stare at all the stuff only a couple of things are observably doing anything. The fan whirs and the Ethernet port at the back has a little flashing light, to give the reassuring illusion of activity I suppose. All of a sudden I get pangs of supernatural awe and feel that I should probably burn the thing, just to be on the safe side. Or at least put it on a ducking stool.

Maybe it’s because it might as well be working on Voodoo power for all I know. And I don’t like the idea of things working on Voodoo power, because no one will teach me any Voodoo. A concession would be a PC powered largely by steam with lots of fixtures made from brass that spin round and huff and whistle, or one that somehow incorporated ants and moss, with some little treadmills and a few toadstools. Living in a dream world. Piffle.

Not that any of that is very interesting. What is interesting is that Monica’s sister’s pet rabbit’s fur, which comes off in big clumps, could be, in my opinion, spun into a very soft yarn. At the rate at which it sheds I think you could gather enough to make a nice pair of gloves just in time for global warming to make a bathing suite more appropriate.

If anyone has been taking night school classes in Voodoo or Black Magic or anything of Occult Significance why not drop me a line? I have an interesting design for an automated peeler/lathe/boweller/defenestrator which would suit the Diabolic Animation that only the Forbidden Arts can reputably supply. Otherwise it will just be another plan that will wind up lining the bottom of Maurice’s cage.