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It’s just that I see no reason to point out any particular time of the year, it does not matter much what weather it is outside since you spend 24/7 at home. Though hot summer is not my season either. If one looked at my existence from the side, such thoughts would not seem so mad, and a psychologist would surely give me a bunch of sophisticated diagnoses and maybe write me a doctor's referral to an asylum.
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They are all simply creations of its sick imagination, an error in the source code or a kernel bug, which started living a life of its own. People on the other end of the internet cable simply do not exist! There is some truth in that, probably because the computer provides 90%% of my communication with the outside world.Īnonymous imageboards, some chats from time to time, rarely ICQ or Jabber, and forums even more rarely. Sometimes it really did seem to me that it was conscious of itself, had its own thoughts and wishes, ambitions that it had feelings, could love and suffer.Īs if in our relationship, the screen wasn’t an instrument – it was me, lifeless piece of plastic and textolite. Where am I, what am I doing here, who is she?Īnd why does so much in my life depend on this answer? If he stays here he may keep monologuing.Įvery time it's so hard to decide on the answer. It's the only way, otherwise the dream will never end, and I will never wake up. Yes, exactly! I should ask her about the owl, for example. I know it for sure – I've done it hundreds of times.īut if you cannot die, is there a point in living? In a dream, there are the small things that catch the most of your attention: unnatural colour of grass, impossible curves of straight lines or your own distorted reflection – while the real danger, which could put an end to everything right here and now, seems a trifle. Still, what do letters, gates and stars have to do with this place?īecause if every night I'm having this dream, which will be forgotten soon anyway, I've got to look for answers here and now!Īnd there, if you look carefully, you can see the Magellanic Clouds.Īs if I ended up in the Southern Hemisphere! Or better, why dot over i was called a tittle, but dot over j was called a superscript dot? I rather ask about the gates! Yes, the gates! Maybe I should ask her something? The girl. I understand that, but what of it? What would change my understanding?īecause here it's just like on the other side of the cracking screen of an old TV, which struggles to the fight against static noise and strives to show it's audience everything without missing a single detail.īut the picture is getting blurry. I could but to do that, I would need to pick myself up, make a step, move my hand.īut this is a dream. Since everything that surrounds me here is real!Īs real as things in my own flat: I could open the gates, hear the hinges creak, brush the crumbling rust away with my hand, inhale the fresh cool air and shiver from the cold. You don't have to know where or why to realize: something is really happening. Of course, if it all would have happened in real life, I would have certainly be scared.īut this is just a dream. Only a glimpse of memory will remain, of gates – half-opened, as if inviting me somewhere – with two frozen stone pioneers standing close.Īnd also that strange girl. But it's all forgotten in the morning, as usual.