Steve Jobs

Panoramic, through the blue tiled ceilings, the painterly surfaces. The adopted rimless glasses.
And yet he sees white as beige, garages as uncluttered, not even 1mm shy of cubic.

Design is a daughterly ambition; tuition is credit received. Certainty is beyond how a drive smiles.
And yet to fail to see the builder’s blocks, the user’s diorama, is to lose time behind a cover.

Next time, it will be a binary. Indecent gifted mac astonishingly will reject/select shareability.
And yet the vision of a hello is not an illusion: it’s just all the transfer she needed.

Like a birdman, he’d command windowless corridors for decades. Javelin soared far, orchestrator.
And yet he is shuffled and scuttled, saved by resemblances, peeking non-coincidentally.

steve jobs_mehtacritic