P. Duck

“The Muses can kiss my ass. Inspiration’s done too much damage already—
Gabbler suspects I’m insane. Yet Gabbler’s still so interested in my story. Gabbler
hopes I’m joking—only putting on a show (Gabbler has always liked my
eccentricities).”
― B.L.A., The Automation

“Maud waved a hand. ‘Take Prometheus, for example. His limited-yet-significant role in man’s creation story begins with clay—no matter if it was the Neanderthal, Denisovan, or Homo Sapien creation. Whatever. He shaped “man” from the ground—a clod of dirt, as the myth goes. Long story short, from dirt man was made and to dirt he shall
return. The god that created man was part of the capital-G God. The gods make up God—all that crap.”
― B.L.A., The Automation

“I would venture to guess that Anon, who wrote so many poems without signing them, was often a woman.”
― Virginia Woolf, A Room of One’s Own

“There’s a name for what I am, Odys. I’m your Automaton. You’re my new Master. When Pepin, my old Master, killed himself, he canceled the bond I shared with him. I became functionless—stagnant—inanimate. I couldn’t change from my object-form until you touched me—until I took your soul. I need a soul to fuel me—to wind me up. We’re like machines— our soul is the rechargeable battery. But I’m far from wires, gears, and bolts.”
― G.B. Gabbler, The Automation