Not to be confused with Sybar-Space – where those devoted to pleasure convene.
No. That’s just a district of the immense city that is… The World-Wide-Web: the sprawling, organic, expanding entity, built of the hopes and dreams, lusts and perversions, inspiration and dedication, needs and drives, likes, dislikes, altruism, corruption, hate, and love of however many million human psyches.
In my cyber-incarnation of blogger, I am able to connect with the thoughts of more people than it was humanly possible for previous generations to conceive of, let alone communicate with.
I can sail across this new territory at the speed of… something very fast.
I can look down from my vessel over the bright, blinking attractions of the digital world and plunge like a comet to view this bit of wisdom, that interesting story, or sometimes what Tracy from over the road had for dinner this starry Tuesday night, before soaring back into the binary sky, a bird of tiny, golden-green, shimmering zeros and ones. Casting avian eyes this way and that, searching hungrily for another information morsel; unnumbered Youtube videos, darting in perfect unison like a shoal of fish swimming in the sea of the net – dive down, snap snap snap, gulp; an idea spreads, virally, users lighting up across the electro-scape, like thoughts firing through neurons, across synapses. Clothed in a ray of light, I follow it, shunning the bounds of my body, travelling distances beyond measure, to follow the evolution of this revolution notion.
Somewhat sated, I return to my home, my little piece of CyberCity, surrounded by my pictures, music, films, letters, writings, and wrongings, all there within my virtual reach. And I pick up my virtual pen to write. And I’m happy… for a while.
I mean, who wouldn’t be? This world of our creation, where we exist as creator and created, free to be as god or insect, all-enveloping or atomic, involved or aloof, popular or insular, as our desire dictates: Better-Than-Life.
Yet… this power beyond reckoning, this indulgence of any whim, this Lilliput where flaws cannot be seen…
I would tear it down for You.
You, whom I have yet to meet, or perhaps to meet again.
You, Venus, Evening Star, my Love.
The years that fickle Fortune-Fate has left to me I’d gladly give away, to feel the whisper of your lover’s breath upon my skin, even for just a day. A day of moments to take to the life beyond.
The contradiction is, of course, that I could never hope to meet You in the real world; my substance-addled, introverted self so prone to miss such opportunities. Only streaming through the eternal, Aurora-strewn, night sky of Pseudopolis might I look down and catch a glimpse; that shining fragment of Your soul, a glimmering scintilla of promise, calling, beckoning me down from lofty heights of angel’s flights, down from the clouds of obscure solitude, to touch our avatarian fingertips together, and feel reality’s satire implode around this You-and-I, as distance unimaginable between us becomes nought…
In that vacuum of white, against which we are but windswept, naked silhouettes, after the storm of the destruction of a universe…
There I’d wish to lie, forever in your arms, for just a day.