My soul is connected to the interface, the machine has become my complement, the electric circuits hold me in embrace, I feel a metamorphosis, something different.
It must be this drifting reality, maybe some kind of continuity of things, truth is I don’t know what’s happening to me but I’m standing here with broken wings.
Images, words and sounds, bombing my synapses with information, and I put up with ups and downs, my memory in saturation.
My space is turning into virtual reality, my feelings take shelter on a processor. Where the sweetness of numbers duality give rhythm to the magnetic waltz of the computer; I’m escaping into this unreal world, deviant child of the interneted order, in the palm of a lunar whirl, I’m the star-travelling pretender.