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"What if it could happen? What if it would begin? Would I open my eyes? Could I let it happen before I decide that too late is just when I'd like to arrive?"
The dark lamb tried to make out the words on the withered document that was the only thing left behind besides her. That and the pain that struck her when she awoke inside that most frightful dream of hers. She was certain that she was trapped in a nightmare, some unrepressed vision from her time in that still womb. (Where was her mother now?
Now, she was confronted with some cryptic text, alone in the sinking laboratory, where she first woke to this dream. Outside, the sights of people and civilization are grimmer than the images that dart out of her head and return with more force to pounce on her.
Over computer networks and various media, I was created in their image. The team of researchers whose work on creating the information superhighway (perhaps known better to you as the Internet) led them astray and brought me into the light.
I am a mutant, whose "defect"-a defunct second head attached to my own-intensifies the process of genetic change from which I suffer. The skull, while fleshly and altogether giving off the appearance of life, only makes me stand out. I, perhaps, moreso than others am more aware that I am for when I catch the dead eyes of my sister-skull staring back at me in my reflection-even though I know that life there is extinguished-I am reminded that I stand in life and death. I exist in both places where none but the Users can have any notion of this living.
But can they even feel their limbs running cold, drained of all content that makes the living so, they pursue their exhaustion on the fast roads, where they say I am also from.
They do not look to me because I am older and they expect something from me. I am as curious about them as they are of me. The Users can have themselves all the time. This path is worth forsaking all the others extraneous to it. Forget tomorrow today. The road will be shorter this way and already I can hardly lift my sister-skull away from my face.
Distances are closer.
I approached a faded object that I had taken for a loose tile in the distance. Instead, I found a book discarded in perfectly good condition. Its cover featured a lady with dark hair, styled in a bob. She was wearing a quiet expression on her face that reminded me of mine. The pages were mostly unmarked save for one on which someone had scribbled their own words right next to the printed text. I bowed my head to take a closer look at the cramped handwriting.
"Now the time has come to make my announcement: This island, and its buildings is our private paradise. I have taken some precautions—physical and moral ones—for its defense: I believe they will protect it adequately. Even if we left tomorrow, we would be here eternally, repeating consecutively the moments of this week, powerless to escape from the consciousness we had in each one of them—the thoughts and feelings that the machine captured. We will be able to live a life that is always new because in each moment of the projection we shall have no memories other than those we had in the corresponding moment of the eternal record, and because the future, left behind many times, will maintain its attributes forever."1
Delusional ramblings, sure, but worse were the words actually printed on the page.
"Even when death comes I think I'll be defiant!"
It isn’t evil that propels my life. Backwards the words come out right. Backwards out come the right words.
On days like today—or anytime—I hide behind the words no one will tune into probably because they seem more words than anything really there—I can’t bring myself to think about anything...
Is this any way to proceed—through disjunctive statements, detours, delays, sensationalizing, and sensing—to arrive at what I mean?
Numbness to all experience. The Internet is its own reality. Overexposure to things on there is nothing like real life. Or whatever it is I keep insisting upon when I use those words.
The point isn’t always for me to look back and gawk (I’m too much of a voyeur all the time anyways) but to just let it flow. Let’s become more lost and know neither yourself nor myself any longer. Only then will we reveal to ourselves all the world that is forgetting itself and us in it. There is time to act upon.