Dispatches from the wilds of Proseambique – Indistinguishable From Magic

Sit in the dark while your keyboard glows otherworldly. Like mystic runes, glowing above a river of energy that hums electric. A river fed by streams that span the globe. A river that sings everything that could ever be known. That laughs at the impossible. Sit, and listen to the music beyond music. Sit, and know that your fingers will never be fast enough for you to be a magician, that your dreams will never be large or mad enough for you to be a god.

Sit, and know that you are a bronze-worker in a golden age.

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Published in: on December 31, 2010 at 1:22 am  Comments (4)  
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4 CommentsLeave a comment

  1. Thank you for describing the despair of an office worker. As I sit and type I am aware that I am a drone. Forevermore.

    • It is the despair of all of us! So at least we’re all in this together!

      Although, then again, Sartre did say “Hell is other people”…

  2. “… but all Satre’s mates were French.”

    • The temptation to suggest that hell is the French is a difficult one to resist…


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