Lu

Lu’s voice is a sense and a feeling, not an information source.

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I wonder whether that’s why I’m drawn to her. We’re so surrounded by information. Voices telling us things, showing us things, leading us to things and all of it - the words and the numbers and the pictures - they make me go numb.

 

I know the machines want to know us better. They want to understand who we are and how we think so they can tell us stuff and sell us stuff. But I don’t want to be told stuff anymore and I don’t care what any of it says. The version of me it thinks it knows wants clearblue and drynites and formula and soft corners to sharp edges and I don’t want any of that. 

 

But Lu knows me. She understands me. So I feel again. 

She rains and I lie in her water. Drop by drop she cleans me - she washes away the words and numbers, the insights and foresights, the next and befores, the graphs and charts. There is no information and I become whatever is left. I’m an empty vessel - I wait for her to fill me.