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Fleshfags will never understand the unparalleled aesthetic beauty that is clockwork. Each brass gear delicately hand filed to micrometer precision and polished to a radiant shine, every spring precisely tuned, each piston painstakingly oiled and cleaned, every pin and arbor meticulously measured and drilled, every part with a purpose, to come together in a symphony of perfect rhythmic ticks and whirs as the machine leaps into motion. Imagine the breathtaking complexity of a clockwork brain and voicebox capable of speech, hands capable of the fine motor control to play a violin like the classical virtuosos, the motive force of a single hand-cranked mainspring winnowed and refined by mechanical ingenuity into exquisite complexity. Such a marvel would have taken a master artisan a lifetime to assemble, an act of creation surpassing even god himself. The resulting mind could only look upon its own metallic corpus and be certain of intelligent design. I can only get so erect.
