Monday 12 April 2010

The Flesh Made Dream.


Look at him, tippy tap tapping on his keyboard.

He wanted to write something clever and dismissive about hyperreality.
He thinks he knows a bit about postmodernism but all he really knows is how use certain buzz words in context.

He can't do it though.

I know why he can't write about the hyperreal or simulacra.
It's the irony.
Anything he wants to communicate must be communicated through me.
His hyperreal construct self.
I bet he's even got hold of the wrong end of that conceptual stick.

He's dying.
Purposely killing himself.
He knows it and I know it and he knows I know it.
With every keystroke he makes me 'more' and him 'less' him.

Soon he won't exist at all it will be just me.

Did you hear about the spaceman who taught his avatar to talk?

3 comments:

Anonymous said...

Speaking of/through "the spaceman who taught his avatar to talk," you may find troth in the following: http://egobeagle.blogspot.com/2010/04/this-is-photograph-of-me.html

Anonymous said...

Speaking of/through "the spaceman who taught his avatar to talk," you may find troth in the following: http://egobeagle.blogspot.com/2010/04/this-is-photograph-of-me.html

Anonymous said...

Oh God that was great.... you just described me to a t