TumbleDweeeb

“Jim and the Terrible Think-So Machine”
(A whimsical caution, in a Seuss-ish scene) By: Emmitt Owens (Index #04062026)

In a town not too far, not too loud, not too grim,
Lived a Think-So Machine in the mind of young Jim.
It whirred and it clicked, it assumed and it guessed,
And it always told Jim that he knew what was best.

Now Ann was kind, with a laugh soft and bright,
She hugged folks hello—just a gesture, polite.
But Jim’s Think-So Machine gave a terrible shout:
“THAT hug means betrayal! THROW ALL HER STUFF OUT!”

So Jim puffed up tall with a thunderous roar,
“I’ll pile up your things right outside on the porch!”
Over a hug—just a quick, friendly squeeze—
The Machine turned a breeze into category freeze.

It buzzed, “Don’t you see? You’re losing control!
You must lock it down! You must tighten your hold!”
So Jim pulled the strings till they started to snap,
While Ann tiptoed through an emotional trap.

“Oh no,” thought her heart, “every step that I take,
Might shatter the calm… might cause an earthquake.”
For the Machine made mountains from moments so small,
And stretched tiny cracks into cracks through the wall.

“You’re wrong!” Jim would say, “Even your child agrees!”
Planting doubt like a weed in the roots of her peace.
Words sharp as tacks, tossed in fits of despair,
Left Ann feeling… less safe, less there.

Day by day, drip by drip, it all took its toll,
Wearing thin at her trust, at her spirit, her soul.
Till one quiet night, with no fight left to win,
She packed up her hope… and walked out from within.

She looked for a place where the floors wouldn’t shake,
Where hugs stayed as hugs, not mistakes you can’t make.
Where voices were calm, and no one would say,
“You must shrink who you are just to make me okay.”

And Jim, with his Machine still humming along,
Couldn’t see that its tune was the problem all along.
For those who control, twist, threaten, accuse—
Often think they’re just “right”… with nothing to lose.

But a heart can’t stay where it’s handled with fear,
And love doesn’t grow when it’s choked year by year.
So Ann moved on, found her breath, found her ground,
While Jim stayed with echoes… the only thing sound.

Now listen, dear reader, if you ever should see
A Think-So Machine where it ought not to be—
Remember this tale, soft but painfully true:

A hug is a hug…
Until fear rewrites you.