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 he’d have wanted it.
Why
couldn’t life have been the way that he wanted it also? Was it someone
else’s 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 wouldn’t 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, hadn’t 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
he’d 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, he’d 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, it’d 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.
He’d do it, he’d definitely
do it, a fresh life with all wiped clean, no mistakes and a perfect education,
this time he’d not waste a moment, he’d walked down that path of misery so
many times and had failed to learn the lesson, but not this time, this time
he’d 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 it’s exploitation. What about those that
are selling death, termination eh? Where are those out at the edge that don’t
shout about it, that don’t 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
they’d meet death, maybe it couldn’t 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.
Let’s sit back and see what
response comes back. I’ll have to be careful to sift out those that wish pain
and distortion, that’s not what I want at all. I can get that on any street in
any city. No problem, it’s 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,
don’t 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. He’d 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, there’s one, one that doesn’t look like the rest, one
that has an extra feel in it, how? What did the difference look like? It
didn’t 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, I’m not sure, I’m
not ready, not that quick, yes, now or never, it’s do it or fuck off, don’t
waste time.
I don’t want to do it yet,
I’ve second thoughts.
Well then, fuck off and don’t
bother me again.
But, but..
Blank screen, no answer, he
doesn’t want to know any more and it’s my own fault. Am I chicken, or
wasn’t I ready? Was it all a bit too sudden for me . Ask and you will receive.
So, what’s next, what’s left to try. Sleep. Just sleep and rest into the
background, day or night, it’s not important. I don’t 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, that’ll do for sure. Bring that
heavy curtain down around me, I’ll 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, it’s enormous, like a giant on a castle door, but, it’s fading again,
It seems precise, methodical, periodical, accurate. It’s a small noise now,
really small and really close, the echo has gone, it’s by me. It’s the
clock, small and obvious, a tiny battery thing, now how did I think that was
anything other than what it was.
So, I’ve 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. I’ve been ignored, or forgotten, too chicken shit to do it. They
are all from idiots and psychos, not from him, I’ll try him, but no I should
wait or not bother, I don’t want to chat with death, it just ain’t 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! that’s 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
doesn’t matter, if it’s not important don’t bother with it. Just leave it
alone there, I don’t 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, he’s back, back
to visit me, words, following each other.
Are you rested now, come and
visit, I’ve not forgotten you, if you come, don’t bother with any baggage.
Time to decide, I’ll 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 can’t be that hard
to figure a person out by his dialogue, it must all be there between the lines.
I’ll go now. I’ve 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
I’ll 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. He’d not
seen it with his own eyes for a long time. Was it years? He wasn’t even sure
if he was prepared to go out now, now that he’d 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 he’d
heard.
He stepped onto the road and
noticed small mounds, tarmac eggs almost about to hatch, where plants were
growing through the road. He’d 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. He’d 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 he’d 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 he’d 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, that’s 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, it’s clinging. I hope to God it isn’t penetrating. What the fuck do
I do know? How far forward or how far back, which way, but I’d better run,
fast, I cannot lose contact, I just can’t.
Forward, quickly, run. This
really is important so don’t stop.
He hadn’t walked more than
ten meters in the past weeks, and the thought that he could run a few k’s, no
chance, he hadn’t run for tens of years, there was no chance. As a kid, sure,
he could run all day. Wasn’t it sunny back then, all those holidays. Or, the
snow, he’d 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 don’t
knock it, I’m 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 he’d 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 didn’t 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 I’ll bet, is this it? Is this real or death,
have I died and come here?
Whatever it is, it knows I’m
here and it’s interested, the screen ain’t 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.
I’m face to face with another
user, now, full on, face to face and she’s speaking, really quickly, alright
is a follow, I’m clicking too.
Is this the walk to death, is
this a guide to take me in to the address or what? I’m a fool for following,
but I am.
Bingo hall, bingo hall,
what’s this about, electronic games hall with multilink connections, a users
paradise, but dull as fuck, hyper bingo, give me a break, but it’s lighter and
that shits gone off me and my screen now I’m 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 they’ve
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, what’s changed, screen
anarchists, what’s new, it’s been happening since the whole thing began. It
started with graffiti, so I ain’t 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?
I’ll sit down and feel it for
a while.
Wowee, a lot of power inside
here, someone’s done something new or very dodgy to get that surge up, I like
it, I like it.
Sort of raw but huge.
I’ll slip in my little bit
here and see if I can help myself to anything - careful.
But, what’s it all over, the
direction is morphing all the time man, a growth that’s throwing me out of
time, just go ahead, it can deal with me and my ways, boy it’s something else
here, bigger than my little opinion.
Good focus, good concentration,
I like that, all over everyone on the bingo trip, who’s gonna get the prize?
No one’s looking round or
talking, except to their screen, just focus, that’s concentration, that’s
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 I’ll
blow it, I’ll become a drone like all these screeners, all these vision vipers
in here, I’m not ready for all that, not yet.
I’d best get on down and into
this, I’ll fall if I do, I’ll sink in and lose the time and moment, I’ll
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. I’ve got to find the next
stop, I don’t think I could run again, I’d probably die.
I’d probably die. Isn’t that what I want, no not
that sort of thing, in the screen, that’s what I want, control and choice,
options, that’s how I want it to be, carefully planned and selected,
destination for sure. It’s out there, I must get there, no ones seen
me stand to leave, I’ll pulse a little vibe into my screen from this
mother here, hope the brains
don’t get fucked over, easy now, whoah, that’s enough.
No ones on it, it’s made back
up. Someday I may like to live in a place like this, it’d be real nice to hang
out and on with all this stuff, cool pad really, let’s 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 ain’t on the outside, it’s coming from the inside out,
it’s something in me, no it’s not that, it’s 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, that’d be the worst.
Day or night, still I don’t
know and what’s going on here, where is the destination? Who’s that calling?
It’s him, I’m overdue and
he knows I’m on the way, I’ll get there I will, if I can fight my way
through all this stuff, it’s getting deeper on the floor and thicker over me
and it’s hardening, I am slowing down, this is not nice, I’m slowing right
down, break it quick, throw it off and away, it ain’t there, don’t let it
exist.
Wow, a vehicle, the first since
I’ve been outside, it’s quiet, and I don’t 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, it’s slowing
down and checking me.
I’m going to go, I can’t
take any more of this stuff over and around me, I’ll end up like a fucking
petrified person, boring shit, and I don’t want that, go on, get in it, they
know I’ll go in, it’s just expected.
The story is already complete,
but I’ll have to see it through and pretend like I don’t know what’s 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, it’s 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, I’m going
over there to meet him, the appointment will happen and I don’t have to go
back, it’s been arranged you see, sort of beyond my control, I don’t know
why it is that way, but I can focus instead of wondering about it all, that’s
easier to screen in like this.
Good charge in here, it’s
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 I’ve 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, that’s what it feels like in this
thing. But, it’s not the same, I’m losing it all a bit, but we are going
over there, there to where I want to get.
The stuff has gone again,
it’s not here on me again.
I’m getting this feeling that
it’s coming from inside and not outside, a sort of body brain fluid. Maybe
it’s a reaction to the outside air. Maybe it isn’t even there, maybe it’s
only in my mind that it is.
Is the screen there? Yes, of
course, we are going there and quickly, maybe he’s sent someone to pick me up,
why me if not.
I like it in these places,
these places I’ve not been before, just how I thought it may be, but didn’t
think had happened yet.
Corners are so strange, I
don’t stop moving as I go round the bend, I drag along getting heavy on one
side and the screen knows it too, it’s brighter that side than this, see?
That’s odd, I’ve not seen
that before, the screen going negative, like it’s all been trained, I can’t
figure it out.
We are spinning!
My body can’t really sense it
but the screen can, I’m exempt, the machine isn’t.
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, I’m 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, I’ve been trying, but travel isn’t 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 I’ve been, I’m where, or near, to where I wanted to go.
Why the circular route though?
It’s still not day or night, why didn’t it change eh? I’d have thought
that time moved it along, one way or the other, but, I’m close, sticky again
and near my destination.
This is walking distance, no
life, roads are completely brambled here, it’s been a long time down here
since anything drove.
Aspiration, that’s the
address, suburbia, I’m in it and arrived. Screen knows and expects, and good
luck eh! I’m here for the same reason entirely. To get something that I want
from something.
That’s it, oh, I’m in here,
a place, different than mine, I didn’t 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.
Where’s the screen then, got
to find it, can’t be too hard to find it in a place like this, after all
it’s not the real water world, is it?
Fishes, real fishes, it’s
good to see some thing doesn’t 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.
That’s what it’s 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, it’s all around me, I think I’m right inside somehow, right in
the middle of matters, where it all comes from.
This is big, really big, I’ve
never had it like this, screen has almost changed colour, it’s the best it can
do, must be to it’s limit.
I’ve 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 I’ve 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, I’m going through. Wow,
it’s me, two of me, and just as pleased to see me as I am to see me, not at
all. I don’t like me much, and so meeting another two of me ain’t that
clever, look away me, and get into that screen, I’ll join you and let’s dive
in together, we’ve a long way to go to retrieve all the treasures in there.
Come on, let’s all go down,
through the surface.
Hey, it’s warm in here, and
we are all smiling, this is nice, I’ve never been happy, not for forever, and
here I am, times three and happy, I’m 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 that’s why we are here now, that’s
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 don’t have to quit till we get it.
And when we do....
There, on it, no mistake here, converging and got it? No, we’ve been
led away, boy it’s a clever fuck that’s worked this out, we are back to step
one and I’m fucked if I’m going to try that again, we missed it once and
we’d miss it again if we tried it again.
Six eyes, all on each other,
this is weird, come to think of it, it’s all weird.
Ah, what the fuck, I ain’t
going in to all that, waste of screen, just gets nowhere. Hey, that reminds me
of what I’ve 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, ain’t 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 wasn’t me, nor me, nor me,
it wasn’t us. We are being duped here, it’s not right whats happened.
I’m not pleased about the way
it’s using us, or maybe that’s it’s part of the game, part of the plot, an
essential way to the final destination, sort of stopping train variety.
Well, I’m being used here and
I don’t like it and I’m not playing.
Good, we are not playing.
Let’s try a simple way, right
up the front path, with trumpets blaring, strange things do happen, try through
the mailbox, as daft as that.
Let’s 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 don’t 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 it’s any use unless we are opened, but we
are waiting, waiting, waiting.
The screen does not like this
static position, it’s moving at the edge, that’s no good, he’ll know
it’s not just mail, get out and try again.
Oh no, we are in and we can’t
get out, the link is secured, we can’t backtrack now.
We hadn’t thought this
through properly and that’s plain dumb. We are hanging in there like sitting
ducks, waiting to be eaten, or something.
Woah, I’m in, opened, this is
a new one on me, out of one place and into another, I’m feeling the
destination, we traveled.
Now, quick, take the link back
now that we have a destination, we can return, back.
Now there’s 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 way’d for a while, I thought we’d done it, really without thinking of
how it was done, but I now know that there’s 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 he’s 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 it’s you you can come in, no need for any tricks, we ain’t so
different, you and me. I know and you know, but we have not just thought it
through yet, don’t ignore it, don’t forget it.
Don’t worry I’m 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.
I’m on the brink of an abyss
of insolvable problems, big hook up won’t help, I cannot access enough to sort
this fucker out, it’s 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, it’s
covered with stuff, that stuff from memory, when it came back it bought all that
with it.
Let’s 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
I’m in now, I am a memory.
The future is yellow.
I have yellow all over, full,
is it over load? No, it’s just yellow, a feeling of yellow as well. That’s
all that can come back I assume, it’s an impression I guess, nothing more than
the impression of a glimpse.
Maybe it’s not even relavent
at all, but, I don’t know, it may be the totality of the future.
Yellow, yellow, filling my
vision and entering me, a beautiful warm yellow, I’ve got it, I’ve found it,
right now where I am and where I was, complete yellow, yellow of sunflowers and
daffodills.
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, thats
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, it’s a place I want to be and I’m 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 I’m happier in here, tight
and loose, with all the ability to travel, I’ve left nothing at all behind,
it’s all for someone else to move up and move into, no longer for me.
As I age I can make these
chamges and the progression suits me. I like one way travel, it suits this
screen and person, but in reality I haven’t moved, I can return to the same
place I came from, and if I’m there I’m no longer here, and outside it’s
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
I’m not human it’s that which stays that is me, even if it’s 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 existance, 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.