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August 21, 2005
2day or IM
The evening was late and even more so scary. I was left with a single-line-view of my text. Just like in the old days, when my grandparent taught me to use typewriter. There was another line in the screen opposing me. The line stated that it was done. Yet another weakness disposed to yet another person. I was waiting patiently for my trial, or the burst of feedback – or worst to come the unbreakable silence. The tool as efficient as terror in Nazi Germany. The tool I use so well in my paths. The tool I may have taught others to use, even against me. But, just in time, my uneasy thoughts were broken by a feeble blink in a short bar – the ridiculous redeemer in my cyber evening. The silence was broken by the view. I held to the digital link of society, so opposing as I held the situation for years, as unwilling as I thought I would find it. I took the link – my gateway to freedom of thoughts and my savior from the stagnation and the presence-seizing sleep – the killer of my essence for today. Yet the supersonic jump of the tie morphed to the gateway of sadness and a dead end. Immediately I felt sorry for ever taking the link, or even for giving birth to it. And in the stream of my contemplation the media died – just like that – I was left with the ever-still desktop in front of me. I hate my desktop – it can’t understand me.
Posted by deme at August 21, 2005 11:42 PM