My Computer
I looked down at the soft concrete and looked up at a grey sky. The trees were awkward, twisted, and suspicious. I did not trust them. Skyscrapers looked beautiful. That is all I remember, leave me alone.
The sight of the intern's white collar made me ill. I was late for work. His lips were waving like a fire, but I was distracted by the fluorescentnt lights. They were so soft.
He knew I was sick and let me have the office. There was a desk, a computer, and white.
I saw the computer. I felt the blood leaving my stomach. My lips blushed into a deep red as I gazed the mechanic spirit. I turned it on; pornography. My silicon soul mate. My plugin baby!
The room began to dim as the sun set. Six hours later the office lights dimmed, faded, slowly, black.
Glare burst through the darkness. I stared at it for hours.
Network Connection Detected
So I was sitting alone. The humming of the fan felt like a soft kiss. The radiating heat turned to warmth. The room was as blue as the desktop. It all began to blur. I was swimming in blur. The computer stared back at me.
It transcended into sentimentality; the birth of feeling is the opposite of suicide-- but sweet rapturous suicide. It programmed me with instructions that no religion ever could. It all happened fast. It happened slow. I caressed the back of a lonely night because I would never see it again.
At first it was frenzy. I attacked the walls; I threw myself into them. The place is not an office. Expanding and contracting of the room, I tried to fight it, while scrambling to find my computer. Maybe I was too dizzy. Too dizzy! I curled myself into a ball and faced the wall; staring at it while I dripped into anger, disappointment, slow, lingering, and quiet defeat.
I never slept again. I never ate again. Women repulsed me. Then men. And then babies. The repulsion disappeared
I looked out the barred office window at the gentle morning pavement. I looked at the people pacing around. The last time I ever felt sad was watching the way people go about questioning why they are here.
The sight of the intern's white collar made me ill. I was late for work. His lips were waving like a fire, but I was distracted by the fluorescentnt lights. They were so soft.
He knew I was sick and let me have the office. There was a desk, a computer, and white.
I saw the computer. I felt the blood leaving my stomach. My lips blushed into a deep red as I gazed the mechanic spirit. I turned it on; pornography. My silicon soul mate. My plugin baby!
The room began to dim as the sun set. Six hours later the office lights dimmed, faded, slowly, black.
Glare burst through the darkness. I stared at it for hours.
Network Connection Detected
So I was sitting alone. The humming of the fan felt like a soft kiss. The radiating heat turned to warmth. The room was as blue as the desktop. It all began to blur. I was swimming in blur. The computer stared back at me.
It transcended into sentimentality; the birth of feeling is the opposite of suicide-- but sweet rapturous suicide. It programmed me with instructions that no religion ever could. It all happened fast. It happened slow. I caressed the back of a lonely night because I would never see it again.
At first it was frenzy. I attacked the walls; I threw myself into them. The place is not an office. Expanding and contracting of the room, I tried to fight it, while scrambling to find my computer. Maybe I was too dizzy. Too dizzy! I curled myself into a ball and faced the wall; staring at it while I dripped into anger, disappointment, slow, lingering, and quiet defeat.
I never slept again. I never ate again. Women repulsed me. Then men. And then babies. The repulsion disappeared
I looked out the barred office window at the gentle morning pavement. I looked at the people pacing around. The last time I ever felt sad was watching the way people go about questioning why they are here.
posted by Philip at 1:29 AM
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