To: The Subjective Unconscious
Date: July 19 1994
“Thinking is difficult. Everything is impossible!”
Only low-level stuff bubbles up in my head as my fingers stiffen over the orange keyboard. Thankfully, no more words come. Rubbing my tired eyes, terror clutches at me for an instant before I shrug it off with a yawn. It's 3.17 AM, give or take a time zone, but what's another all-nighter? The strong wind gusting outside rattles the windows and stretches my fraught nerves further, while the studs on my old leather cut-off gloves make metallic noises as I rub my hands together to keep them warm.
It’s too late to meditate, but not too late to contemplate questions that have been around for Decamillennia before me. “Who am I? What the fuck am I supposed to be doing?”, are simple questions that remain unanswered, and of course anything bequeathed to me by previous world orders need careful scrutiny. So it's not surprising that things haven’t ever made sense. White noise and meaningless sentences flow through my overheated imagination, and the key slips further away, but the little voice in my head isn’t finished yet.
"Something really important is going to happen soon!"
“Now is the time the time is now..Nowsthetimethetimeisnowisnow…”
Closing my eyes, I try to think about anything, besides that. Using fifty years of experience at dismantling harmful beliefs, I manage to delete the runaway thought and suddenly it doesn't matter what time it is because perception has kicked in and awareness scrolls as I reboot.
Blood super-oxygenated. Turbo-spleen activated. Pain-editor engaged. Speedware initialised. Cranial armour secure. A.P. up. Cybershaman online!
Flash. Consciousness shifts up, a plasma flow. It doesn’t help that it’s now 4.00AM, but sometimes when it's late you can share knowledge with yourself, and it isn't too bad! Swivelling the chair, I consider the cold, dark world past the window, hopeful that somewhere out there there's a secret of Earth shattering importance. Instead, the last surviving thought breaks like a tsunami of embalming fluid.
"Something wonderful is going to happen - soon!".
It’s fortunate I'm not someone who wonders why stray thoughts from old sci-fi movies are sometimes important, they just are. Rising stiffly from the pilot’s chair; I amble with rhythmic slowness towards my pillow; where I fall asleep thinking painfully long thoughts.
© Return of The White Lady - 1994 - By Mike Kawitzky
Neuromancer vibes all the way through. Waiting to be plugged in the cyberspace!