Why I Love Tazer

Hello. My name is Modelo. As I write, the time is six hours, fifty-eight minutes, and seventeen seconds; coordinated universal time. Beep. I would like to thank Mythopolis for extending to me this opportunity to post a 'guest blog' on his Life's Bone blog site. I have chosen a simple love story for the occasion. While I am a fan of the stories Mythopolis writes, I assure you that any resemblance between my story and an earlier tale by Mythopolis called 'Why I Love Peaches', is purely coincidental. I am sure that you, like I, wish Mythopolis a speedy recovery and return to his blog site. Until then, I will fill in as necessary. Sincerely yours, Modelo Elongata.

Why I Love Tazer, by M. Elongata

Talaza had felt lost in this place before meeting Lover. A cold, three story brownstone along Michigan Avenue in Chicago, looking out on the lake. The only thing that kept her there was Lover. With Lover, it seemed she could almost feel. Feel the way that humans feel. Lover insisted she was only inventing the idea, and not really having a feeling. But she felt differently when he was with her. His body on hers sending an electrical surge of excitement through her. Lover was quite paradoxical. He was, as his name suggested, quite the lover. And yet, he was so cold. He didn't even aspire to feel.

I first ran into Lover as I was going up the stairs to my apartment. He was my next-door neighbor on the third floor. He kept to himself a lot and I didn't really have any complaints about him. Well, one thing, perhaps. The strange sizzling, whining, electrical sounds that sometimes drifted through the wall that separated us. It brought to mind a childhood memory of my father playing with his shortwave radio. The kinds of high pitched whistles and white noise that came from the receiver as he turned the dial back in forth in search of a strong signal. I know Lover had a girlfriend who came by a lot. I could hear some of their conversations through the wall. It always seemed such an analytical and abstract conversation. Mathematical and philosophical exchanges that sometimes got heated and loud. Some kind of disagreement about the mathematics of being.

One Summer afternoon, I sat outside on the steps of the apartment drinking a beer with Lover.
"I guess you have a thing going on with Talaza, eh?" I asked casually.
"A thing?" he asked, looking over at me.
"Yeh, like you guys look like you are really in love." He stood and stretched.
"Let's just say, we have a very strong connection." he said.
"Good. Connections are good." I replied.
"More than good. Connections are essential. You can't live without connections. Talaza and I, we make each other stronger when we are one. Connections, that's what is vital." he said, turning to me. "Feelings are expendable given the possibilities of connections. Feelings are for fools. But Tazer and me, we have something else. We have a connection."

This bond between Lover and Talaza or 'Tazer', as he often called her, seemed puzzling for me. She seemed a woman who might have feelings. He, on the other hand, seemed to want nothing to do with that. At any rate, their relationship was about to come to an abrupt end.

Some of this is a blur, but it was a Friday night, I remember that, for sure. I could hear Tazer's angry screams. And I remember the time. It was exactly 2am, because I could hear the loud ticking of a clock, and an electronic voice that said,
"At the tone, the time will be two hours and zero-zero minutes, and zero-zero seconds, coordinated universal time. Beep."
"Why do you have to announce the time every minute of every hour of every fucking day!?" Tazer screamed. I heard the sound of Lover's door being violently slammed. I opened my door just enough to look down the hallway. Tazer was storming out, her black stiletto heels sounding like gunfire, and actually making sparks along the floor. As she disappeared out the front door, I could hear the muffled sound of Lover's voice through my apartment wall.
"At the tone, the time will be 2 hours and zero-seven minutes and zero-three seconds, coordinated universal time. Beep. Tick...tick...tick..."

It was only two days later when there was a massive black-out affecting the entire city. It appears that Lover terminated himself. His charred remains in the apartment next door were discovered on the floor alongside an overturned lamp. Two blackened metallic looking bony fingers were photographed by forensics. They protruded like burnt filaments from the empty lamp socket.

In the days that followed I consoled Tazer, who was berating herself for her impatience with Lover. I realized she had feelings of guilt and remorse. And I saw her shed a tear. As I wiped it away, it felt mostly like sewing machine oil, but a tear nonetheless.

Today, Tazer and I have a strong connection. She still struggles with defining love, and how to feel it. She is working so hard at becoming human. The idea that she is pregnant is scary, but we are hoping for the best. We received the best medical attention, being such an oddity, and a portent of tomorrow. The media was having a field day with our story. A cyborg woman and a human male, were expecting a child. We were on a lot of talk shows. Tazer got fatter and fatter, as the baby grew. On February 19th, at precisely, 14 hours and 30 minutes, and zero-fifteen seconds, coordinated universal time, our baby boy was born. The world held it's breath. Never before, had a cyborg and a human actually spawned. He was normal, even beautiful, an extraordinary child, although he had an obsession with time, as we, later learned. We named him Lover. He was the first of his kind. Many more like him were to follow.

As for Tazer and I. We are starting to feel our age. I am a bit arthritic in my joints now, and Tazer complains of corrosion on her terminals. Our son, Lover, now running for a congressional post, bought us a small condo in Venice Beach. Every morning, after breakfast, we stroll down to the beach, and snuggle together on a bench, exchanging small talk about the jugglers, acrobats, and bikini-clad girls on roller blades that grace the winding path along the sea. Most of them appear to be human, but now and then we spot one of the 'new mulattos', as the media stupidly calls them. People like Tazer and I. I run my fingers fondly through Tazer's wiry hair, and caress her shoulder and arm. It's so much like flesh. She rests her head on my shoulder and hums and buzzes sweetly.

Post Script.

It is quite possible that Mythopolis may attempt to post on his other blog site, Mything Links. I would caution you against going there since he is quite delusional at this point. Thank you, Modelo.