Date: Mon, 23 Sep 1996 18:00:16
From: Debra Richardson
Subject: Re: last big post of the day
Why here bothering do we speak?
To where the words do are going they?
I here with am you to(get)her, we.
We cannot bridge the distances. I will not now feel your breath on my throat.
Small child trusting touch clutches up at my hand in fear.
I shake her away.
I gaze into the darkness of the screen.
I extend all of this self as far as I can into this that which is the space in which I am no longer this meatself. I stretch gloriously chromed fingers arms neck shoulders body legs. And clean. Ozone and speed are the substances of being. Coppery taste of blood on my lips I ignore as I dive into and through the datastream to stare hungrily into your eyes.
You recognize me in spite of it all.
You can see the bloodlust in this mirrored eyes.
You taste the sharp tang of these words.
We are here alone and alive and together and searching reaching grasping at fibreoptic straws hoping somehow in this madness we will find something some like to once have called 'truth' and yet for all it's worth the blood curls off of my tongue like smoke and stains this keyboard beneath my fingers and where once I would have cried I can only laugh.
My eyelids click metallic. I do no longer need this breath. Death ever eludes.
We know of what we speak.
So we speak.