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THE DAILY ROBOT

@thedailyrobot / thedailyrobot.com

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262 (Hurried Afterthoughts)

This did not take very long, but that doesn't mean it's lousy.

Also, if I could remind you once again to please vote for the Daily Robot over at blog interviewer without coming off as desperate or rude, well, then I would. I don't know that I can though, so instead I will apologize for coming off as desperate and rude. Listen - we're only a few votes away from 3rd place, and I promise not to bug you about it once the month of May ends.

_______________ by Mo Martin

The engineers and programmers and scientists said to me, "You are made out of titanium alloys and copper wiring and silver plating and boron and selenium-15 in a state of decay." The investors and journalists and public relations people said to me, "You are made out of 1.3 trillion dollars and our hopes and tomorrows." The protesters said to me, "You are a horror made out of nightmares and folly and arrogance." But this evening, I shine gently, and I know: I am made of moonlight.

#ink paintings#sketches#encyclopedia robotica#lousy stuff#the daily robot
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220 (Hurried Repeats)

Just sort of winging it with some ink tonight. I was going to do an April fool's joke, but I didn't wake up until noon, and that's generally thought of as the deadline for those sorts of shenanigans. Oh well, next year. Or tomorrow.

_______________ by Mo Martin

The powerful magnets tore at her body, slowly wrenching off her appendages. Somehow, against the powerful pull, she managed to bow her head. As if in mourning. As if in prayer.

#ink paintings#encyclopedia robotica#the daily robot#april fool's
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219 (Green Eyed Monsters)

I figured I hadn't had any fun with ink in awhile, and I felt like making a sequel to Robot number 86 from way back when. The net result of all this is that now my desk and hands are a mess. You're welcome.

_______________ by Mo Martin

The cavern was illuminated by my automaton guide, and I stared in wonder at the vast shadows. A hollow earth, like the theories advanced in the fiction of Verne and Rice Burroughs! Would their theories about prehistoric inhabitants pan out as well? But then, an odd green light seemed to echo my mute companions across the cavern. And another. And another, until the whole of the colossal room was bathed in sickly green light, showing hundreds of thousands of metal men lining the walls, fixated on me. And then, collectively, with a horrible magnification of the pneumatic sounds I had found friendly and comforting in my descent, they moved towards me.

#ink paintings#encyclopedia robotica#the daily robot#better robots
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214 (Rising from the Flames)

Here is a new robot. Today we have a new layout. What do you think of these matters?

__________________

by Mo Martin

As the fire melted the delicate copper and tin circuitry with in, it froze, and was burnished by the flames. No longer a monster, my creation was finally beautiful, a brilliant mirror of the flickering destruction. Able to approach it for the first time since its violent awakening, I embraced it, and burned, and rejoiced.

#fire#ink paintings#encyclopedia robotica#photoshop bludgeonings
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213 (925-R)

Everyone's worried about robots taking their jobs, did it ever occur to us that they wouldn't even want them?

__________________

by Mo Martin

It was a long walk down the road. The Machine Man felt the heat radiating off him, even though the dust dulled his polish. That heat and the ponderous weight of the machinery that animated him, propelled him, made him a self, combined to sink his feet deeply in the tar of the road, and he felt a sting of guilt. He had a deep respect for public works, for all the miraculous contrivances of man, and he hated sullying them. But he had made peace long ago with the foul weight his body had on the world, not just physically, but spiritually, and he knew it was a state only temporary, fleeting as the flies that hovered over the horse patties in the field next to him. With deceptive speed, a car appeared on the horizon, enthusiastically honking its horn as it zoomed past his trudging steps. He waved. Finally a weather-beaten house appeared on his left. A young child on the porch gawked at him as he approached, and then ran inside. He was at the foot of the porch stairs when a woman covered in flour up to her elbows and a man in only a pair of overalls came out, the farmer's arm protectively around the shoulders of his wife. "Good evening, madame, sir, I -" "You're a goddamn Tin Can!" He'd heard worse than the standard slur. He continued. "I'm a Model U-32. That's Universal Factories, made just 5 years ago in 1932. And that's all I was until I found the Good Word." Their gaping mouths and eyes grew just slightly more incredulous than amazed. "But now I know the Truth of Christ our Lord, I am saved saved saved. Are you Christians, missus and sir?" The amazement was passing and the eyes were closing off in skepticism. "We ain't buying nothing, Tin Can." He was ready. "Well that's fortunate, sir, I'm not selling a thing, no sir, I'm not accepting a single dime, I just want to know if you have a bible in the house?" And now the hostility was there, the hate. "We ain't buying no damn Bine bible." "Well, sir, that's fine by me, as I am not selling the blessed word in Binary, but giving away a bible in King Jame's own english, and -" "Get in the house, Eveline." The woman obediently went inside. The talk continued. Eventually, The metal man's sales pitch was exhausted. He calmly stood and suffered his penance, heard the bile spilled out against his kind by this farmer, and focused his optics on a point just above the house, imagining fire and lions and swords purifying the ancient Christians. Since metal could survive all that, he pondered, perhaps my martyrdom, like my salvation, is through words. Finally, the farmer had worked himself into such a frenzy at the "God-damn Job-stealing Tin Shit Cans" that he actually attacked the metal man, and howled as the heat of the day, built up in the metal, burned him slightly. At this, the metal man turned and left the man to his oaths and fury, in the deepening dusk. He didn't mean them, he reminded himself as he closed the gate behind him. Anger is Satan's trap for some, and there is just as much hope that that farmer will escape it, as he had escaped the trap of his programming. He turned on his lights. It was gonna be a long walk down the road.

#ink paintings#encyclopedia robotica#photoshop bludgeonings#work#the daily robot#employment#better robots
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