May 7, 2010
Anyone living on the edge of Reality, feet in the living room and head in a digital cloud, does not bother whether or not his glass of milk has been pumped with bovine growth hormone.
Nothing, in fact, really matters except getting to the next level; in his fathers house there are many mansions and all he has to do, to lick the bastards, is to download a key of sorts.
Nature is drowned out by the sounds of androids and electric fire. Its up time in no mans land while the gray Lords harvest what is left between heaven and Hell.
He gets up, in real time, for a biscuit of bleached wheat with chocolate taste, a glass of E numbers and a bag of what carries artificial food only to get back to feed his hard drive.
Protected from the perception of the growing waste around him he is happy as can be. His living space is a capsule that filters out any news of lakes become gelatin and oceans glistening in black.
Nature could disappear around him, he would still be OK.
Just as Aspartame can give you a sense of sweetness without being sugar the realism of a life that is never really over amply satisfies a nervous system that doesn’t care where the pleasure comes from as long as it keeps coming.