Steve Jobs: The Man in the Machine Page #14

the way we do.

It's too simple even to conclude

that we love them

because they connect us

to a wider world

and the people in our lives

that are far away,

because these machines isolate us, too.

Perhaps the contradictory nature

of our experience with these gadgets

mirrors the contradictions

in Jobs himself.

He was an artist who sought perfection,

but could never find peace.

He had the focus of a monk,

but none of the empathy.

He offered us freedom,

but only within a closed garden,

to which he held the key.

To reconcile these contradictions,

I think we have to look to the other

half of our relationship with Jobs.

To ourselves.

As Jobs wanted it,

the screen of my iPhone is dark.

A Zen landscape of the unseen.

If I stare into it, I see

an obscure reflection of myself,

but this impression

lasts just a fleeting moment

before I press the home key

and the screen lights up.

But perhaps I should spend a moment

regarding that reflection,

asking myself what, in buying

and using this product, I am doing?

What is the full nature

of my transaction

with the maker of this magical

and intimate machine?

Once I wanted to be the greatest

Greatest, greatest, greatest

No wind or waterfall could stall me

And then came the rush of the flood

Stars at night turned deep to dust

Melt me down into big, black armor

Leave no trace of grace

Just in your honor

Lower me down to culprit south

Make 'em wash a space in town

For the lead and the dregs of my bed

I've been sleeping

Lower me down

Pin me in, secure the grounds

For the later parade

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