There’s an inner loneliness in us that makes the entire contraption tick; the gears of emotion and ambition turn; the levers of the mind move up and down while moving gradually to a pre-encoded, semi-violent self-destruction as the screws loosen up. An inner emptiness that is the very fuel and the only source of life in this metallic shell. This mighty vacuum sets the mechanism dreaming like anything’s possible while knowing nothing is. And the tin man’s computer chip builds majestic castles out of alien sparks and electrons. Current and smoke. We dream of the organic life we can’t possibly have for the only life we know is something that corrodes in the rain. We dream of things we can’t have. We dream of places we can’t go to. We dream of people we can’t have. We dream. And the endless dreaming, strangely enough, somehow programs love into our Code.