'as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on the screen'

Failing again the other day,

to read my telephone screen

in the sunshine, either with

polarizing lenses or bare-

back, as it were, should I
have resolved then and there

to investigate an app that

would go on recite to me on

call, such content as I may

care to entertain, selected

from the heaps of inputs to

which we're all subjected?

But it would take fuh-evah

to educate an app in all my

preferences; and possibly,

if there's anything worse

than being nannied, it's

being nannied without be-

ing known. Again, however,

if one were to think about

it, a nanny app to read to

me from my nanny device,

could only carry diminish-

ment to diminishing returns,

which I happen to think, ar-

rived 'long about the same

time as the Touch Screen,

and the enthralling dance

of Cover Flow. Where would
go, unlikelihood?

I ran into a fellow who

struck me as conversant in

devices in the sunshine,

but this was no confidant. 

What peach would read his

Prufrock as incompetent?

How assume the spirit our

devices so distrust? A

most disarming greeting,

yet not a feeble posture,

the genuine condition?

T.S. Eliot

The Love Song

  of  J. Alfred Prufrock

1915