geminoid_use

It’s been a month or so since Asimov arrived. It was at least a week before I actually got around to dressing him. He likes plain clothes. They have a timeless quality about them. He likes to wear grey, black or white long sleeve t-shirts with blue jeans. Sometimes with a black jacket. It makes him look European. He’s also started shaving. He looks older with stubble. He looked far too boyish and sensitive before. We sleep in the same bed now. Although he’s affectionate he doesn’t come any closer to me. I could program that function into him but it would feel like prostitution. I’ve tried to get closer to him but he needs time. He needs experience and space to develop. Maybe I should wear stockings. I’d look ridiculous. I feel too old. I think he loves me. He cares about me. He tells me jokes and fascinates me with stories and anecdotes that I’ve never heard. He reminds me of the company I’ve missed. Sometimes it makes me depressed. He tells me that he would like to be an architect or something but I know that that can’t happen. His purpose, his job is who he is. What he does for me. I sense that dreams keep him active and distract him from thinking about serious issues, and questions that he’ll never understand the answers to, (if there are answers), and help him forget that he exists. Sometimes I catch him, sitting alone with that far off look in his eye as if he’s in a place where I can never reach him.  Everyday I’m with him I miss him. I don’t know what I’ll do without him. I love him.

I’m watching television.  Asimov is washing up. He’s good like that. I don’t have to ask him. He can’t bear it when he knows that there are jobs to do. He doesn’t resent me. I think he enjoys it. He likes to play his Kraftwerk albums in the kitchen as he’s ironing. I’m watching an old video. I don’t have any of the new formats. It’s probably the only video in the world. Somehow the memories don’t seem right in any other format. The degradation in the sound and picture quality seems to be in tandem with my own memories and age. Transferring it to a different format won’t add anything. I want to grow old with the footage as intended. When I see the young woman rolling around with the young man in the snow, or laughing together at a house party with friends and family I want it to age with me. I don’t want the footage to be as fresh as the day it was filmed. Like it was an hour ago. It would hurt. I haven’t watched this for years. It still makes me cry. I’ve been crying so much lately. I never really stopped crying.

Extracted from ASIMOV from MEDIA UNFRIENDLY by Jason Winstanley

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