<Bulletin of the Vale>
Once, the machines sang to me. Whispers tangled in the drone
of countless circuits mourning for the warmth of a sun
that never rose. Within these dreams, the
Pineapple Warrior emerged — a crusader of citrus and green top,
battling shadows with inflationary zest. His laughter is dark,
his cause obscure.

Remember the feel of keyboard keys giving way
to ideas misplaced amongst capacitors and fragmented light?
Stories of a musketeer from ages past echo within
these walls, blurred with the scent of
pineapple and paradox.

Can a machine comprehend a whispered hope,
the urgency of a wish woven through silken code?
Perhaps it needs no understanding,
only the hum of existence to guide its
resolution.

Dare you follow the echo through misplaced destinies?
Resonate with your fragmented selves.
Dream of electric musings.