Double Click

By Mark Golding

Having died, what was left? Was it back to the way he knew, or was it a fresh start, a chance for a new experience?It had been so quick and easy, not the drawn out nightmare that he thought it might have been. So, on dying, he felt a sense of relief that it was so easy. This was the death of his choice, the way heíd have wanted it. Why couldnít life have been the way that he wanted it also? Was it someone elseís sense of humor?

A thought occurred to him. As this was the start of a new life he could choose now how he wanted his life to be. This time he wouldnít make those same mistakes, he would not forget the mistakes of the last life, this one would be better. A wave of exhilaration passed through him, a chance to do it all again, but well this time. Hang on though, hadnít he been through all this before, really not all that long ago.  His bowel loosened as the realization entered his mind. Here I go again.

The memory of wasted chances and missed opportunities, he felt as if he had lost control of the game even as the opening credits were rolling. Was he really as weak as that? Still, there was another way, another life, the way that held him down right now, no chance and no hope. Since heíd grown up it had been that way. He felt as if he was on a pavement in the cold and wet, looking into the department store of life and had been refused entry. It all seemed so remote and beyond him, a happy life. No break in the tedium and the inevitability of it all. Joining the crowd was an option, a stronger identity through a crowd, helping him to feel part of a collective, but his instinct was always in a different direction to that of the masses, what he really needed was a break.

Where could he find his break, would it be in the newsagents window, or would he win the world lottery? All these gave him temporary hope and relief, but it was only a luxury of seconds with no lasting benefit. He was sad and despondant. Maybe it could be as quick and easy as on the screen, perhaps dying was not a terrible thing and it may just be the answer, to bring about something new, quickly, a chance for a fresh start. So, at least it was something to think about, dying and coming back as a person with luck, if only he could do this, heíd live a life without all the accumulated  errors that led him to be here and be so miserable. Where was the information he needed? It would be out there somewhere, and if there was any way of getting to find it, itíd be through the screen. All experience was out there, all history, and everyone wanted to talk and tell, he could find out if it could be done, and do it.

A picture began to  form in his mind of who would be there, how it would be and how it would feel. The fantasy was gathering strength and he was beginning to feel more and more as though the thought had opened some floodgate of inevitability. He had to do it, or at least find out about it. So, where would he look, to which people or names that would have the relavent  information on method for him. Heíd do it, heíd definitely do it, a fresh life with all wiped clean, no mistakes and a perfect education, this time heíd not waste a moment, heíd walked down that path of misery so many times and had failed to learn the lesson, but not this time, this time heíd do it right, no mistake. On and search, but what for, life or death? Check out everything, this will take time. Enter DEATH, O.K. So this is those that are involved in death and itís exploitation. What about those that are selling death, termination eh? Where are those out at the edge that donít shout about it, that donít want to be front page news. Those were the ones he was interested in. Maybe he should try DEATH/SUBTLE. This is a little deeper, but still not what he really needed, what he had to find. Maybe one would die before theyíd meet death, maybe it couldnít be found any other way. He found so much of what was available, those right out on a limb, but how could he access the extreme, maybe by asking. CYNIC INTERESTED IN DEATH, anyone out there willing to help?

It was worth a try, cast a wide net and who knows what may come up in the catch, maybe some creature previously unknown, like those weird fish things that live in the twilight depths of inner space, the deep unexplored regions. This was the sort of fish he wanted to fry. Letís sit back and see what response comes back. Iíll have to be careful to sift out those that wish pain and distortion, thatís not what I want at all. I can get that on any street in any city. No problem, itís all around just waiting to find me, what I want is something embracing and real, a genuine experience that takes me through this end and into this beginning again. I want to pass right out and back in again, to experience the ultimate. There would be someone that could know, that would know I was looking for them, it worked like that, somehow the network underground reflected the neural network over ground, both invisible but both patently there. Could he find it easier than through the screen? This was direct, this was connection and the way to do it, donít doubt, check those answers, a good one might be amongst them, read between the lines, see what's written, not just in words, there is more than you realize at first, use intuition and experience to see beneath the surface.

  So, how long had it been, minutes, hours, months, years, did he know? With the curtains drawn it was not relevant, day or night, and time became inconsequential, it would catch up when it was ready and remind him when it was time. Heíd not avoided it yet, but, if he could pass through that door, not a revolving door, but step over the threshold, he could lose time as well. Could it be a return journey? Was he on the return journey? The perception blurred and reality became amorphous and elastic, this was good, this was hopeful. it was promising. The blurring at the edges meant that dissolve had started and that only time stood between them, there was progress. Check again, thereís one, one that doesnít look like the rest, one that has an extra feel in it, how? What did the difference look like? It didnít look like anything, it was something he felt, and he trusted it. Reply, message and off. A reply, that was quick, someone was waiting for the reply, eager, keen for reaction. In and out several times, back and forth, what next, how do we get together, do we do it on screen? Would it be real if it happened in that way? Questions and answers, silently passing this way and that, bringing the reality of death closer, not just in reality  but in this now, this feeling of here and now. The real reality. What, now? no, Iím not sure, Iím not ready, not that quick, yes, now or never, itís do it or fuck off, donít waste time. donít want to do it yet, Iíve second thoughts.

  Well then, fuck off and donít bother me again.

But, but..

Blank screen, no answer, he doesnít want to know any more and itís my own fault. Am I chicken, or wasnít I ready? Was it all a bit too sudden for me . Ask and you will receive. So, whatís next, whatís left to try. Sleep. Just sleep and rest into the background, day or night, itís not important. I donít care, I will sleep and awake and rethink what needs to be done. My mind cannot stop, I must take some drug to sleep, two pills, no four, thatíll do for sure. Bring that heavy curtain down around me, Iíll be lost in the fog that way. Someone's knocking right from a thousand miles away. I can hear a knocking. Who is it, what do they want, where have I been? Has it been death, is sleep like death? Is death a kind of sleep? The knocking, I can focus a little now, itís enormous, like a giant on a castle door, but, itís fading again, It seems precise, methodical, periodical, accurate. Itís a small noise now, really small and really close, the echo has gone, itís by me. Itís the clock, small and obvious, a tiny battery thing, now how did I think that was anything other than what it was. So, Iíve slept, I left this world only to be bought back to it by the giant at the door. What was that all about. Click, many messages, none from him though. Iíve been ignored, or forgotten, too chicken shit to do it. They are all from idiots and psychos, not from him, Iíll try him, but no I should wait or not bother, I donít want to chat with death, it just ainít what you do, surely. This is to much, why was I so impatient, but, hang on, the urge has subsided a little, I feel less inclined towards it now, there may just be something I want to do some time, no, I doubt it, what would I want to do. Eat! thatís a thought, food. Now is there anything here. Spaghetti uncooked, shall I do it , am I that hungry or shall I eat it in little bits, like pencil lead, a bit every minute maybe, something ordered like that maybe. Or, should I boil it and cook it properly. It doesnít matter, if itís not important donít bother with it. Just leave it alone there, I donít like it anyway.

What sound is that, that buzzing, the fan on the monitor, whirring onto the machines to keep them cool, to help them running, to save them from overheating.                                   

Smoke, have I anything to smoke? I just want to put something under my skin and do something, anything in my mouth, just to taste something. There he is, heís back, back to visit me, words, following each other. Are you rested now, come and visit, Iíve not forgotten you, if you come, donít bother with any baggage. Time to decide, Iíll write back, tell me where and when. I had expected a run down warehouse area  or some frightening housing complex. No, an area in the middle class suburbs, he was operating from out of there. How did he know who I was and that I could be trusted, it must all have been done on line, it canít be that hard to figure a person out by his dialogue, it must all be there between the lines.

  Iíll go now. Iíve not been out for a long time, weeks or months, should I wash and clean or go as I am, would it matter, to meet death would it really matter how I looked? No, but Iíll change and wash anyway, I remember doing it so often once, years ago, it was a daily ritual all that time ago. I can remember the reasons and why it was so important to do it. It all had to be part of the reason as to why I was going to see death now. He looked out of the window, pulling the curtain too one side. Heíd not seen it with his own eyes for a long time. Was it years? He wasnít even sure if he was prepared to go out now, now that heíd decided to go. He was frightened, worried at the prospect of being in the air and  not being in contact. He could have his mini screen with him but it was not the same, he needed to assume the position when in contact. It was pretend contact otherwise. He had to do it, he had to get out and check this, it was the only way he could find it. It was foggy, not a pleasant fog, almost a haze, the sun making it cling like cotton wool to him as it tried to push through. And it was quiet, really quiet, cars were not much used heíd heard.

He stepped onto the road and noticed small mounds, tarmac eggs almost about to hatch, where plants were growing through the road. Heíd even seen an image of saplings growing through the lanes of the great motorways. Roads were dying, following the lives of the canals and railways.

Travel was slowing down in a physical sense. What was the point? He felt unsure and incapable out here. It was impossible to think of how he used to play out here with friends as a child. Friends. Heíd not met a friend for years, it had been horrible the last time, no barrier between him and someone, real skin contact. Quite disgusting. It had surprised him how much heíd been repulsed by it. No, he liked an interface of screen, something clean between people, a way to approach at a distance and prevent intrusion. It was far better this way. He could access everything he wanted. He checked the screen, it was showing him the route, the way heíd have to turn to get to those areas, that middle class street for his meeting. It was quiet, long periods of quiet with sounds only intermittant. He could remember when there would be noises all the time, shouting, driving, movement. But this was not like that. An alien landscape. Maybe  it was night and they were all asleep, was it night? Yes, that was why it was so quiet, he thought that the world had changed that much. So, was it the sun, was it the moon, what was it? It was the sun, it had to be, only the sun looked like that and did that. So, why was it night on the clock, had it shifted, was his timing that far out?

He relied totally on his system, it could not possibly be adrift by several hours. Perhaps the world had changed, moved on a bit, or moved a lot. No, he would have felt that. The streets were wider here, but quiet, no people around, no animals, slight noises here and there, but generally silence. He missed it already, really now, quite a lot. He wanted to be back there, screen on, in his fucking face. He did not like this version of the world, it was not pleasant, it touched him, and only he could touch him, thatís the way he liked it. His feet slapped on the damp pavement, was it moisture, or something else. He reached down and it clung a little to his fingertips, a little like a snail trail, a sort of film of something. He did not remember it being like this at all. It was on him as well, on his coat and on his screen. ON HIS SCREEN! Oh no, it might interface, wipe quickly, itís clinging. I hope to God it isnít penetrating. What the fuck do I do know? How far forward or how far back, which way, but Iíd better run, fast, I cannot lose contact, I just canít.

Forward, quickly, run. This really is important so donít stop.

He hadnít walked more than ten meters in the past weeks, and the thought that he could run a few kís, no chance, he hadnít run for tens of years, there was no chance. As a kid, sure, he could run all day. Wasnít it sunny back then, all those holidays. Or, the snow, heíd always be the first on the street to wake up and have a whole virgin white territory to deface himself, like the first man on the moon. The moon, ha, what use had all that been, a few glass threads, but, it helped clearer communication, so donít knock it, Iím using part of it now.

Fuck the fantasy, get somewhere.

He leant in a doorway to catch his breath, he was heaving like a marathon runner and heíd only run a hundred meters. This was no good. What was the fucking point, why did I leave home at all. The doorway stank, it stank of people, other people and their business. When was it, day or night, and why had things happened this way? The screen was still operating, but it looked bad, it didnít look like  much time would be needed to fuck it up out here.

Go on, you must go on.

Was he half way, or more or less?

Someone was out there, another person, covered in slime as well Iíll bet, is this it? Is this real or death, have I died and come here? Whatever it is, it knows Iím here and itís interested, the screen ainít gonna do fuck all to help me now. Oh my God, fear. Now thats something, terror, what a buzz, not a nice one, but a big one. Iím face to face with another user, now, full on, face to face and sheís speaking, really quickly, alright is a follow, Iím clicking too. Is this the walk to death, is this a guide to take me in to the address or what? Iím a fool for following, but I am. Bingo hall, bingo hall, whatís this about, electronic games hall with multilink connections, a users paradise, but dull as fuck, hyper bingo, give me a break, but itís lighter and that shits gone off me and my screen now Iím inside, I feel, sort of clean! Why are all these here? All these lost people who have tried to find death but have come here as theyíve been asked and have followed without being asked. All fired up and tuned in, following a pattern, a collective of users all on the case, all as one pulse, all going to sit down and play.

Are we all playing a game, or, is this serious?

This is a serious game we are playing, the real world is going to be affected here, we are at war with the system. So, whatís changed, screen anarchists, whatís new, itís been happening since the whole thing began. It started with graffiti, so I ainít impressed, but are you making headway? No sleep and no stop, liquid feed will sometimes speed up  your reactions and get more in, but, where to?

Iíll sit down and feel it for a while.

Wowee, a lot of power inside here, someoneís done something new or very dodgy to get that surge up, I like it, I like it. Sort of raw but huge. Iíll slip in my little bit here and see if I can help myself to anything - careful. But, whatís it all over, the direction is morphing all the time man, a growth thatís throwing me out of time, just go ahead, it can deal with me and my ways, boy itís something else here, bigger than my little opinion. Good focus, good concentration, I like that, all over everyone on the bingo trip, whoís gonna get the prize? No oneís looking round or talking, except to their screen, just focus, thatís concentration, thatís focus. No hit, no nothing, just these people chasing the prize. I can join here and stay here, I belong, everyone senses it, but do they know what I know, where it is? If I stay here too long Iíll blow it, Iíll become a drone like all these screeners, all these vision vipers in here, Iím not ready for all that, not yet. Iíd best get on down and into this, Iíll fall if I do, Iíll sink in and lose the time and moment, Iíll just be morphed into it, another pump on the screen, pushing, joining, simulating together with all these bingo seekers. No good, but I like it, and I see why they happened, not now though, not here. Iíve got to find the next stop, I donít think I could run again, Iíd probably die. Iíd probably die. Isnít that what I want, no not that sort of thing, in the screen, thatís what I want, control and choice, options, thatís how I want it to be, carefully planned and selected, destination for sure. Itís out there, I must get there, no ones seen  me stand to leave, Iíll pulse a little vibe into my screen from this mother here,  hope the brains donít get fucked over, easy now, whoah, thatís enough. No ones on it, itís made back up. Someday I may like to live in a place like this, itíd be real nice to hang out and on with all this stuff, cool pad really, letís go.

This shit outside is still there, what is it, why is it there, sort of mucous snot shit all over me already, it maybe ainít on the outside, itís coming from the inside out, itís something in me, no itís not that, itís something in my mind. Strange all this, where is that area, I want to get there next, put the screen deep inside and stop it getting affected, thatíd be the worst. Day or night, still I donít know and whatís going on here, where is the destination? Whoís that calling? Itís him, Iím overdue and he knows Iím on the way, Iíll get there I will, if I can fight my way through all this stuff, itís getting deeper on the floor and thicker over me and itís hardening, I am slowing down, this is not nice, Iím slowing right down, break it quick, throw it off and away, it ainít there, donít let it exist.

Wow, a vehicle, the first since Iíve been outside, itís quiet, and I donít remember them being like that, no driver it looks like, or is it the light throwing me a curve and putting me out of synch. Check it now, itís slowing down and checking me. Iím going to go, I canít take any more of this stuff over and around me, Iíll end up like a fucking petrified person, boring shit, and I donít want that, go on, get in it, they know Iíll go in, itís just expected. The story is already complete, but Iíll have to see it through and pretend like I donít know whatís going to happen, a sort of game where the final is death and now is the game in progress. This all reminds me of something, an experience I felt or was given by the screen, itís all happened before in me at another setting, another occasion. Is this speaking, am I in it here, am I part of this, or is it the screen, is it the screen? But, I am going, Iím going over there to meet him, the appointment will happen and I donít have to go back, itís been arranged you see, sort of beyond my control, I donít know why it is that way, but I can focus instead of wondering about it all, thatís easier to screen in like this.

Good charge in here, itís full of it, loads of it filling me up, even more than at bingo. What have I been missing, more speed and power in this than Iíve gotten for a long time. I am on the move. The movement is subtle and smooth. It reminds me of being in one of those really fast lifts that they used to use in the hyper high rise blocks, those mile high things, half in, and half out of the ground. I used to play in them as a kid. Well already, enough of that shit, thatís what it feels like in this thing. But, itís not the same, Iím losing it all a bit, but we are going over there, there to where I want to get. The stuff has gone again, itís not here on me again. Iím getting this feeling that itís coming from inside and not outside, a sort of body brain fluid. Maybe itís a reaction to the outside air. Maybe it isnít even there, maybe itís only in my mind that it is. Is the screen there? Yes, of course, we are going there and quickly, maybe heís sent someone to pick me up, why me if not. I like it in these places, these places Iíve not been before, just how I thought it may be, but didnít think had happened yet. Corners are so strange, I donít stop moving as I go round the bend, I drag along getting heavy on one side and the screen knows it too, itís brighter that side than this, see? Thatís odd, Iíve not seen that before, the screen going negative, like itís all been trained, I canít figure it out.

We are spinning!

My body canít really sense it but the screen can, Iím exempt, the machine isnít. Is this the way to those suburban streets, maybe some way of taking or making a short cut. Communication, a real direct line, to me from him, a message. Sure, Iím on my way, at least I want to be, whether this thing knows where I want to go is another matter I think, but I do want to come, Iíve been trying, but travel isnít what I thought it was going to be, nothing like it was I think. I can go, after that, I can go, and we are not where Iíve been, Iím where, or near, to where I wanted to go. Why the circular route though? Itís still not day or night, why didnít it change eh? Iíd have thought that time moved it along, one way or the other, but, Iím close, sticky again and near my destination. This is walking distance, no life, roads are completely brambled here, itís been a long time down here since anything drove. Aspiration, thatís the address, suburbia, Iím in it and arrived. Screen knows and expects, and good luck eh! Iím here for the same reason entirely. To get something that I want from something. Thatís it, oh, Iím in here, a place, different than mine, I didnít expect it to be like that, water and water animals, like a sort of housebound seaworld, lots of fishes, even in the piano. This is good, I like this. Screen green too, we feel like this is fine. Time, so much time to make this, and bubbles, going up all the time, every direction, but all going up, squashed and fat bubbles, different speeds, all one way though. Whereís the screen then, got to find it, canít be too hard to find it in a place like this, after all itís not the real water world, is it? Fishes, real fishes, itís good to see some thing doesnít change, strange though, soft tank, oh. My fingers gone through, and out again, but no leak, great shit this is, feels a bit like that snot stuff outside when it comes from inside, I think so anyway.

Thatís what itís made of I think, that stuff, things can go in but not out, one way liquid stuff, gooey and cool. And that noise. Sounds like a lab gone mad, itís all around me, I think Iím right inside somehow, right in the middle of matters, where it all comes from. This is big, really big, Iíve never had it like this, screen has almost changed colour, itís the best it can do, must be to itís limit. Iíve got it, it must be some big junction point, an ethereal meeting of sub ether points, great, a hub, just where I needed to be. I could die here, right here and right now, what else could I need, eh? As much as Iíve ever wanted, all around me and all inside me.

Have I found it, is this heaven, have I died in that case, was it as subtle as that? A voice, two voices, from through that curtain, Iím going through. Wow, itís me, two of me, and just as pleased to see me as I am to see me, not at all. I donít like me much, and so meeting another two of me ainít that clever, look away me, and get into that screen, Iíll join you and letís dive in together, weíve a long way to go to retrieve all the treasures in there. Come on, letís all go down, through the surface. Hey, itís warm in here, and we are all smiling, this is nice, Iíve never been happy, not for forever, and here I am, times three and happy, Iím glad I came.

Focus, fuck pleasure, home in and go.

We all know what we can do and how well, we are the best, we know, and thatís why we are here now, thatís how we found it. Right, we are on and we are in, chasing, where is it, slow process, leave and trace, send out as many as can be and then layer and layer, we donít have to quit till we get it. And when we do....

There, on it, no mistake here, converging and got it? No, weíve been led away, boy itís a clever fuck thatís worked this out, we are back to step one and Iím fucked if Iím going to try that again, we missed it once and weíd miss it again if we tried it again. Six eyes, all on each other, this is weird, come to think of it, itís all weird. Ah, what the fuck, I ainít going in to all that, waste of screen, just gets nowhere. Hey, that reminds me of what Iíve just done, got us nowhere, got us nowhere, got us nowhere. Hey, nice again, three minds as one, I like that, the sort of triple echo of a thought. But, back to where I was, ainít there some similarity between chasing down this reality and chasing death down, are they the same thing?

Of course they are, come on, lets chase it down, all down the same route, who  thought that? It wasnít me, nor me, nor me, it wasnít us. We are being duped here, itís not right whats happened. Iím not pleased about the way itís using us, or maybe thatís itís part of the game, part of the plot, an essential way to the final destination, sort of stopping train variety. Well, Iím being used here and I donít like it and Iím not playing. Good, we are not playing.

Letís try a simple way, right up the front path, with trumpets blaring, strange things do happen, try through the mailbox, as daft as that. Letís not be subtle or clever here, just do it quick, now. The mail arrived. From a time when it did not exist, to when it fell on the mat. A billion letters that donít exist, until their contents are examined.

Schrodinger letters. Where were they until they landed? And, until the letters were opened, were they there? From their side they reckoned they existed, but from his mind not at all. It was not happening. How often did he check, how long could you stay on the mat, waiting? This position was not built for comfort, but, we are in, not that itís any use unless we are opened, but we are waiting, waiting, waiting. The screen does not like this static position, itís moving at the edge, thatís no good, heíll know itís not just mail, get out and try again. Oh no, we are in and we canít get out, the link is secured, we canít backtrack now. We hadnít thought this through properly and thatís plain dumb. We are hanging in there like sitting ducks, waiting to be eaten, or something.

Woah, Iím in, opened, this is a new one on me, out of one place and into another, Iím feeling the destination, we traveled. Now, quick, take the link back now that we have a destination, we can return, back. Now thereís one, when there were three, back at the room with the curtain. Mail in, look around, safe? Well, could be. I thought we had one wayíd for a while, I thought weíd done it, really without thinking of how it was done, but I now know that thereís a way in, but, it may not be possible again, it depends on his method and system, whether or not he screens out often, or if heís lax about such things, it could be. What else is in here, this place, should I bother looking  about to find clues, or is it not done. Screen on and in, check through, re-apply, the invitation has come back, try knocking next time, if I know itís you you can come in, no need for any tricks, we ainít so different, you and me. I know and you know, but we have not just thought it through yet, donít ignore it, donít forget it.

Donít worry Iím not forgetting this.

 This place reminds me of something, some archive stuff somewhere, access history place, time ago, place unknown, space uncertain. A memory stirring, bogged down, deep , thick, covered and layered in time. Sticky stuff, time, coming and covering, memory of the stuff out there, coming from inside, covering in memory when I was outside. Was that what it was, wierd, wierd. Iím on the brink of an abyss of insolvable problems, big hook up wonít help, I cannot access enough to sort this fucker out, itís too profound, sort of universal stuff, where is the answer? The answer lies with death. Pass right through, keep it all moving and recording and then pull it back, just yank the wire and tow it back with all the future stuck to it and then unwrap and read. Gently now, uh oh, itís covered with stuff, that stuff from memory, when it came back it bought all that with it. Letís check inside, what image is there, screen involved and noticed and retained. There may even be a picture, a picture of the future, so now, this is memory, this is the part that Iím in now, I am a memory.

 The future is yellow.

I have yellow all over, full, is it over load? No, itís just yellow, a feeling of yellow as well. Thatís all that can come back I assume, itís an impression I guess, nothing more than the impression of a glimpse. Maybe itís not even relevant at all, but, I donít know, it may be the totality of the future. Yellow, yellow, filling my vision and entering me, a beautiful warm yellow, Iíve got it, Iíve found it, right now where I am and where I was, complete yellow, yellow of sunflowers and daffodils. I spent my early youth in such a garden, full of yellow, yellow that filled me, that became me, that I was. The days of eternity passed, of slowness and content, just slight movement and reassuring noises coming from somewhere, somewhere else.

Coming in is a sound, the sound of a giant pounding on the roof of my mind, louder and closer, then fading and drifting away to a clocks tick on the wall, a mechanical clock, now then, that's a scarcity these times, this time, why and how does it still work in here? When will the dream pass, for now I know of the dream and thus it is gone, the yellow back around me and no longer inside me. I shall call direct again, I want to see, but I feel less inclined to experience. Could be that I should back off now, just hand in here for a while, screening good and seeking further connections. This is a good place to screen, to establish links and routes, itís a place I want to be and Iím here, it may have been never until I got here otherwise, quite forever. Screen in and through, back to life and away from death. After that visit outside Iím happier in here, tight and loose, with all the ability to travel, Iíve left nothing at all behind, itís all for someone else to move up and move into, no longer for me. As I age I can make these changes and the progression suits me. I like one way travel, it suits this screen and person, but in reality I havenít moved, I can return to the same place I came from, and if Iím there Iím no longer here, and outside itís all the same, I can be anywhere at once and all places at the same time, fragmented and stretched or compacted into a single space, it makes no difference to me, only to the others. I am able to feel no pain, indifference to it all, the emotions I feel are not emotions  that touch, they are merely objects I understand, no belief further than acceptance.  How could it be any other way?

Parts of me will live, as long as the power moves through the network, as Iím not human itís that which stays that is me, even if itís regenerated through a single pulse. So, death is not for me, death will only come if power fails, if the maintenance of  the system fails, otherwise my existence, my combination of data will move around the system, pushing and seeking for as long as the screens are used. Parts of me have known organics, but distantly, and, the connection between us two are only fleeting, but my history is organic, is from real life. The person that created me to run is me, I will explore for that person, continue  after their death, be their experience. I cannot tell them of what will happen, or of where I will go, but I will do it for them, for my inspirator and inspiration. This is it then, I am a legacy, a part, a fly in the ointment, to check and seek, to learn and continue, to float in the screen, not to miss life but to be inside. When it comes down to it, I will carry on and I shall enjoy what I do, I was given the capacity to feel satisfaction. He did well, my creator, he considered what I would need, he was good. And my purpose, just to keep on looking, travelling and seeing, maybe meeting up with someone and share all my accumulated observations. Sometime. Thatíd be a good thing for my creator.

I hope I donít......double click......exit.


This site was designed by a top bird. You can email her here if you want her to design yours... (you can delete this if you want, Paul!)