Signifying nothing

Scene opens on ROBOT running Away, across a grey, meteor-pitted Landscape It is Ganymede, so there are flashes Of green and blue and red in the grey Ash But mostly it is grey which makes it Difficult to perceive ROBOT who is Running Away cross the screen, over the jagged Pitted surface of a desolate moon of Jupiter The planet looms high in the black inky Sky--washed out and pale since this was the Fifities But actually probably more accurate than Our oversaturated present, with its wandering Robots Who are, technically, also running away Without legs, of course, but with outlandish Speed ROBOT is running away from something He may not even remember, since his memory  Banks Are full of pain and suffering of some kind Inflicted on him on Ganymede by those who Love But ultimately hate him.  So he runs; he runs And he is most assuredly crafted in metal to be Male He runs, this ROBOT with pencil thin legs Radio head with yellow blinking light and Antennae And the scene fades as he ...

It is 1975 A solo dog runs across Scene Panning back  The camera reveals Wreckage Two cars have Collided, 70's Cars Big boxy beasts With lots of plastic Wood And chrome, plastic Chrome for miles and Miles Slumped over the Wheel of one is Lucille Ball She was drunk, of course Having just Tonight Showed In the day, because day Filming and day Drinking And you would go to A doctor and be offered Scotch The other driver is Groucho escaping his Abuser 70's TV comedy Ensues with biopic Pathos

For some reason Main Character Has to make a Sudden escape In a self-propelled Parade float Papier-mâché Bursting into  Butterflies of  Wafting paper (Replete with  Accent marks) Careening this Way and That Tissue paper Streaming like Toilet paper Caught on your Heal

I hover over my new vacuum Robot, not to monitor their duty To the job, but out of sheer joy And Amazement. Yes, I am that kid Still who sincerely believed that A gift of walkie-talkies was the Absolute best best best and I love You forever, oh wow oh wow oh I The robot comes in a plain brown Box, like porno mags used to be Delivered. Uncle Ken had Playboy Sent to his house and had a TransAm Aunt Wanda loved him and loved that TransAm Now that's where it gets complicated This salacious appeal to my boyish Desires that were entirely sexual but Had nothing to do with sex as anyone Might define it. Desire. Desire? Is it  Understandable? No, so I hover over this robot, watching How they negotiate this wild mountain Of rug, this leg of lamp, this chair that Keeps moving because I keep moving It And I am in sheer ecstasy. Such a Simple and wonderful thing. The  Code runs through my mind. Decision trees play out in simple Desire Desire to clean, desire to map--desire To know.  I...