Saturday, October 22, 2011

Meridian

I'm standing, trembling on a meridian line
gauging either hemisphere for its value unto me.
I've followed it as far along its longitude as I dare, revealing naught but further questions.
And I know that matched emerald sheen of grass equally green in all directions will be split upon my first step.
So which is it? Left or right?
Two options clear as day from night, but who could choose between any of these?
It's a sick joke my psyche plays in its ploys to convey me to a conclusion but have me feeling regret long before I choose.
Left or right?
I stiffen in terror at every swift breeze, every loose leaf - the thought that the choice could be made for me by chance motion, by the shifting of the earth - it threatens to strip away the last vestige of my humanity; all of the me that's left in this body.
The light in my eyes has long since gone dim, intelligent thought the furthest thing from my mind, staring blankly at this meridian line and realizing that it's been etched straight into my brain, a long crease straight down the middle - The left saying right, the right saying left - my best laid plans split between east and west.

I've crossed so many lines in my time that I don't even know what side I'm on anymore, or if there were sides to begin with.
I scan my memory banks and filter through what few grains my synaptic shores haven't had washed away.
The left I took at 13 when I said "I think I'm gonna live with Dad."
The right I took at 17 when I thought "Put down the knife...it's going to get better."
The left I took at 20 when I said "University isn't helping me...I need to find my own path"
The right I took at 24 when I saw a single poem on youtube and said "I need to do this...now."

I sit down in the dust of indecision and exhale slowly.
I can do this.
I've seen these lines before.
They always look the same.
I rise to my feet with a deliberate balance and wipe the dirt from my legs.
Always the same left or right...
The sun and moon forever rise on this exact meridian line
A decision unreached is a life stopped from living.
deep breath in
deep breath out
I try to inspect the hemispheres, try to get some idea of
NO
A decision unreached is a life stopped from living.
I steady my nerves, shut my eyes
I cringe at the wind and think to hesitate
NO
A decision unreached is a life stopped from living.
Stop thinking, stop worrying, just move. In these moments, all we can do is act, and act now.
I steady my nerves, shut my eyes, pick a direction and prepare to jump
in 3
2
1...

Tuesday, October 18, 2011

The Poetry of the Moment

There is a stillness and silence to the world - the calm before the storm. Fire-coloured eyes lock and advocate a mutual understanding that we would polarize our lips and have them become magnets. Fingers initiate pilgrimage, a cartographic obsession driving nothing short of complete exploration. Layers of wrappings shift to reveal further ground to cover and, with the delicate care of a librarian handling a first edition, are removed entirely.

Goosebumps are a poor description - our skin blisters without pain, hair stands electric, screaming for freedom and escape from the flesh.

Sparse clouds in the night sky serve as a wordless marquee for a VIP performance intended only for the crickets, and the moon lay static - illuminated glass on deepest black satin waiting to be cracked. Ice begging to be broken so as to include all creation in our discourse.

Such is the music of synapse - that the occupation of one mouth can trigger the other to create a lone harmony with the power of both voices.

Such is the music of synapse - to be deafened by the crush of twitching thighs, to accept in the moment that hearing will never be as important as this - and to invite a further pressure.

Such is the poetry of the moment - to have lost all definition of "I" and "You" and to accept eternal that "we" "this" "us" is all that has ever existed.

It is in these moments that we are all artists - fingernails become paintbrushes on sweat-soaked canvas - voices sing freeform to a steadily intensifying rythm and percussion - and yes, we are acting - but we are acting like ourselves at last.

In song, we meet in reverent harmonies; our voices flow and crash, intertwining and growing in tandem like accelerated vines springing forth from our very throats with a power and pace that would convince us we had altered the axis of the planet.

The world is lost to consequence - the salt sting of sweat in our eyes as distant as the voice of a sparrow calling to God through a hurricane. The burn in our muscles a cool comfort compared to the inferno we encompass as one.

Such is the music of synapse - that one face buried in the crook where neck meets shoulder is, despite the tumult and torrent of urgent motion, somehow able to make eye contact.

Such is the music of synapse - to rise and build in a simultaneous vocal performance and deliver a sudden crescendo strong enough to drown out the entirety of the world's symphonies.

Such is the poetry of the moment - To succumb to the finality of exhaustion and collapse, breathless, synchronized, depleted - and to accept the whisper of the wind as nature's applause.

Saturday, October 8, 2011

Re-Think

I don't come from the net.
I haven't traveled through systems, peoples, and cities.
I live in this place.
Mainframe. My home.
My format? Binome.
The overlooked backbone, little 1s and 0s.

I know you're all out there.
Out past the system, out past the user, past the net, past the web...outside somewhere completely different, and you're watching our town.

I know the cameras would have you believe the hyper-sensation that is life on Baudway.
And yeah...it's pretty nice. The circuits are clean, and the people friendly. Great place to live. Must be nice for the sprites who can afford it.

But take a trip down through the stacks of the city. Each one a level of life, and each declining in quality. The best keeps to the top so as not to ruin Phong's view from the Principal Office. But scurry down the steps and you'll find me, in my null's nest apartment just a hop, skip, and a jump drive away from Al's slow food.

Funny to think this place has only two restaurants...one at the top, one at the bottom. The closer you live to one or the other determines the likelihood that it's "more in your price range."

So yeah...it's not exactly heaven down here. We live in a constant state of fear, with viral armies going most unchallenged in my neighbourhood. So we scurry, left and right, and just try to keep away from Megabyte. But then...most of us end up working for him.

And then come the games, and I know what you see. You see Bob, big time hero, tear-fixin' virus fightin' Bob. And you see him kicking user ass again and again. He saves the day again and again. But the binomes who die? You think they're just fine? Sorry friend, but their asses get straight nullified. I hear that hellish warning come day after day - The incessant buzzing of "Incoming Game" And all I can think is "I wonder which neighbour I'm going to lose?" I can barely muster the will to reboot.

What I have to say is simple. What I have to say is "What you are experiencing is a temporary distortion of reality." Mike the TV isn't cute, alright? There's only so many times a binome can hear "ninety nine ninety nine ninety nine" Before he wanders out to Lost Angles and throws himself into the fucking sea.

Wouldn't be so entertaining, would it? To focus on the daily struggle of low-level binomes, hiding from virals, and waiting entire SECONDS for their meals.

Hell, when that web creature attacked? Why do you think it hit level 31 first? Because nobody ever bothered to LOOK down here.

One last thing...and I don't want you to pretend like this hasn't bothered you. If you've seen our lives, you've wondered if other versions of us live in other systems. You've realized that you, too, are called "the user". And you imagine that the enemies in your beloved games are your heroes; Bob, Dot, Enzo, AndrAIa. Don't worry, they're not. It's just the binomes. Those big time sprites are saved for endgame, and you never really manage to win, do you? Guardians are great at these games, but what am I supposed to do? I'm just a fucking spelling checker! Death comes only to low-level, wide-eyed, trembling little 1s and 0s.

So just remember, next time you play on your pc? The next bad guy you kill, well it just might be me.