The Kintsugi Man

A Story Told In Tanka Form

The Reluctant Cyborg

The wires as of now are invisible. There are no protruding jacks in my head. My glasses have no special features except progressive lenses, which I guess means my world view skews toward the left. Or maybe they allow me to keep moving forward into the future.

I wonder what tomorrow will hold. Will I die more machine than flesh?

Will I die?

Or will I, as Rodney Crowell sings, go to heaven on a hard disc drive?

On days when my body lets me know in no uncertain terms that it has had quite enough of gravity’s weight, thank you very much, there is a longing for replacement parts with less wear and tear on them. I guess with all my aches and pains, I should be thankful that I, as yet, do not have anything artificial within. Though, that is not to say that those mini machines are not life-giving. There are many whose health has been rejuvenated by amazing tech.

I have been promised a new body. I’ll be honest, the idea of spending eternal bliss in some beautiful realm seems kind of boring, but that’s the overachieving creative talking. I wonder what my awareness will be. And if I am mostly machine, what will translate into the new transmutation.

Perhaps the internet will serve as the repository for my soul, at least the creative part of it anyway, and this treatise one more deposit in the cryogenic chamber of my legacy.

Surreal, symbolic, and emotionally raw — a futuristic portrait of a woman who wears her truth in ink and metal.

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