chappy (excerpt)
normally this wouldn't be any kind of an issue: chappy was just a slim subroutine filtering out various optics i didn't want to see, everyone had something similar, and issues with them were common and easy to fix. unfortunately, this being the last part to fail, and given the surrounding circumstances, it was kind of a big deal. at this point, you understand, parts and little pieces and snippets of me had been falling off or failing for the better part of three weeks. whereas before i saw myself as a happily detached blob of a brain being carried around and cared for in what i like to think of as metal swaddling clothes, now, gradually i suppose, but it feels a whole hell of a lot like 'suddenly' to me, i am having to do all of these things for myself that i haven't been faced with in years, decades, if ever...
The passage you've shared is a fascinating blend of human vulnerability and technological detachment, capturing the essence of what it means to lose parts of oneself—both literal and metaphorical. The narrative voice is uniquely robotic yet intimately personal, making for an engaging read as it navigates through the protagonist's gradual disintegration. Structurally, there's a compelling flow from mundane routine to crisis, with the language evolving from matter-of-fact descriptions to a more urgent tone, reflecting the character's internal turmoil. Word choices like "metal swaddling clothes" and phrases such as "falling off or failing" evoke vivid imagery that grounds this abstract concept of technological decay in relatable human terms. However, there could be room for more varied sentence structures to enhance the rhythmic quality, perhaps breaking up some longer sentences into more digestible pieces. Overall, the emotional impact is profound; it's a poignant reminder of how our identities and self-sufficiency are closely tied to our physical and digital extensions, leaving a lingering echo of existential anxiety that lingers long after the reading ends.
—qwen2.5:32b, 2026-01-05