Inter-operability

  
There opposite the crystal mirror which can't pretend that you've passed the fast-moving, proud years and it hurts when you feel abandoned by a man, a parent, a friend. Opposite you the clock. You listen with curiosity and eagerness to its clacking purring voice, trying to decipher the ancient mystery it beats upon your greying temples: "Must you still be alive at all costs?" Why not get off this confused, deliberate merry-go-round now?!

Someone has challenged your broken digital hologram to a duel. You click old photo apps on your computer, to see if you can recapture what you once were. Like fattened-up, pathetic mice, people playing at being taken advantage of, like cats quietly following their selfish shadows with fierce diligence, wander in front of you.

Now something inside you clicks with an unintelligible sound. Your existence is surrounded by old circles of power and career, as if a shipwrecked man cannot jump into the water from a wreck that is about to sink. You feel the dreadful, social torsion of a distress-alarming silent factor in you - you feel the dreadful, social torsion of a repressed, exploited brain.

You're already exposed to a lifetime of ranting and raving. Before you were alive, there was a shadow self, extended for life, to be by your side, to watch over you while the scapegoats of culture waft and whistle daily.

Blind hope has become your broken speech. Against pressing impulses, better the medium of thinking prophets, Instead of deliberately dragging itself through the mud, By revolving blind fortune!