Deus Ex Machina

All the screen’s a stage and all the men and women merely players. They have their exits and their entrances, and one person in their time plays many parts, their act being seven ages.

At first the infant mewling in test tube’s neck...

Then the whining School Child, with cassette and shining morning face creeping like a snail unwillingly to databank...

And then the Lover, sighing like a furnace, with a woeful video made to their lover’s hologram...

Then a Soldier, full of strange oaths. Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel, seeking hi-score, even in the laser’s mouth...

And the Justice, in fair round belly, with eyes severe and clothes of formal cut. Full of wise words and machine code...

The Sixth Age shifts into the lean and slipped pantaloon. With spectacles on nose. Their youthful clothes well saved, a world too wide for their shrunken shank. And their adult speech synthesiser turning again towards a childish treble, piping and whistling in its sound...

Last scene of all, that ends this strange, eventful history, is Second Childishness, and mere oblivion. Without keyboard, without monitor, without power supply...

We don’t inherit the Earth from our ancestors,
We borrow it from our children.

Imagine if we could begin our little life all over again.
Imagine if it was all nothing more than some Electronic game.
Imagine if I knew then what I know now.
What did you learn?
I can’t quite remember, but I’ll try and be better next time.

One question.
One answer then.
There is something warm wet and salty on my cheek. What is it?
That is what human beings used to call a tear.