Picasso, like the artist

The sound of beer bottles shattering upon impact with the floor was a sound I was very familiar with. It let me know that it was that time of day where I should pretend to be asleep. I didn’t take the risk of having the TV on at a low volume or listening to music through headphones. So, it was just myself and the dark, silent void I called my bedroom. Like most children however, I was afraid of the dark. Luckily, I knew I could always have my closet door cracked open ever so slightly. He lived in the small sliver of light that escaped from the closet. We were able to have long conversations without me having to utter a single word out loud. I’d tell him about my day, confide secrets, admit regrets, and he’d do the same back to me. I almost couldn’t believe he had problems of his own, his life seemed so great. He was an adventurer. He explored the world and met amazing people. He seemed so strong, like nothing could stop him from doing what he wanted. He certainly wouldn’t be stopped by...

My workbench was messy and cluttered, but if a passerby were to examine it they’d probably think it was unorganized in such a way that I could precisely pinpoint exactly where every single screw and circuit board was. This was not the case. In fact my work process is disastrously inefficient and wasteful. This computer, however, won’t be. I’ve wasted so many resources on developing imperfect models, and even now I’m still trying to engineer something more advanced. Something that exceeds the standards of commercial computing as we know it today. I don’t want to appeal to every spoiled, Cheeto-dust-fingered brat who’s begging for their mommy’s credit card to play the same asinine, mind numbing game about a benevolent hero crusading about, between poorly written and poorly animated cutscenes. I want to be thanked for propelling technology and therefore society years into the future in ways no one could have predicted. I was surprised to see my son looking through the door to the garage, ...