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.
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
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
It all seemed so remote and
beyond him, a happy life. No break in the tedium and the inevitability of it
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
donít want to do it yet,
Iíve second thoughts.
Well then, fuck off and donít
bother me again.
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.
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
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
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.
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
Mail in, look around, safe?
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
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
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
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.
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
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
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
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
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
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