0 4 0 5 2 0 1 2 – the combination to the future. Digits have taken hold, swarmed and calculated our humanity. It’s not so bad, when I can get away into hills out of radiation’s way.
I’m like a paranoid alien-snatched renegade, waiting for the day the operation will be made. For all of us are to be disposed of, like so many articles of clothes of finicky consumer bodies fit with colorful bits.
My courage must be quick, undoubting, or the fans this shit will hit. Keep a low eye on the overhead situation. Always know the quick route to the underground compounds.
I hate to make such frightened blade running sounds, but the sun will start to don a dimmer light. The days will seem like disco Vegas nights, never knowing when to sleep. We’ll step out of body into dreams, regaling memory chips of better days before the neutron winter haze, when flowers lined the steel passageways.
Probe the data deeper still, before when grass coated feet roamed the hill and salvation seeped up from the ground and rained from the sky, pressing hard between this mortal goodbye. The future was so far away, the following afternoon or maybe the day after: Saturday.
Yes, Saturday was the bright and illustrious future. Please don’t make me go back—forward to the digitized black and video sun. I don’t want to lose the inclination of the hill I run. The composite formulation does not compare, nor does the filtered ventilators to this wild grass perfume air. Please, may I stay. Let me live in this state, even though I tremble knowing that this too is an algorithm, a bio-digital meta vision. There is no escape.
[unsolicited hopeful response follows]
If you can imagine what you’ll see, it’s not even close—beyond the construct of a low-voltage synaptic random access melancholy. But I indulge… What if this numero-visual race, and this endless hurtling through black space is suddenly understood to be a great journey, through the mythic dually proven hypothetic plasma-driven emotional magic dream heart, into the bright hot molten core of this Saturday?