Critical, creative and digital writingEcriture critique, créative et numérique

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01 11 2013  


My space is frozen, My life an assemblage Of rigid boxes Congealed into the silence And motionlessness Of my apartment in this night. The only apparent movement In this dull environment Is the tapping of my fingers On the keyboard of my musing. My lips mimic life In a mockery of a dialogue; I whisper words of wisdom But fail to fill my own emptiness. No wonder our thinking, Is so constrained Into the bony roundness Of our brainy head: We built this world, So-called modern, To be silent, predictable And without surprise. We end up nostalgic, Craving for life, yet getting Only stasis and death. This wave of skepticism Has swept me from my land And plunged me into A deep, unhappy moment Of realization: Every minute, life Intrudes in my field of experience, The digital numbers On the microwave Announcing the passage To another minute, And reminding me That time is killing me Slowly.