Late Night Voodoo
Maybe not knowing what to write means I don't have anything inherently interesting to say at present, or something anyone would have any interest in. Maybe its the fear of the truth in the words I write down for myself.
I feel like I'm hovering above something right now. Above a choice. No, more like there's a jump I have to make and if I don't do it I'll be stuck good.
Meatspace. The gangplank of life glowing brightly in front of me, like live-wire voodoo in the dark. A sheer fall into the monotony of flesh.
The fall is so smooth. Easy. Like beads of mercury. Quicksilver on ice.
To be irrevocably caged in the prison of the body, the mind's need overridden. Instead of flying free in the highways of the future that was promised us. Cyberspace, a place of the mind.
But why is the damn jump so hard?
The heck is this, poetry? I dunno. Feelings of some sort I suppose. Its late, I should be asleep but I found some inspiration to finish this post that's been haunting my drives.