- One -
In the beginning there was 'The Well' and 'GenX'.
We shall start at the end, however. We shall speak to the children of
Cyberia. In doing so, we may hope to return. One day.
The Corporate Net. The Net the Temptress. Both witness the fading of
The High Priests. Yellow Dwarf big time, good bye High Priests. We
shan't miss you as we accelerate towards the end. Do you still carry
your Well card? Do you still know your Well number?
The back lash is here. It is now. Like a tidal wave? The Fools!
Pigs!
They bask in the sun. They bask in the glory. The glory of little
knowledge. One hundred million and more groupies. The sand gets in
the eyes and you wrap the kouphia tight round your face and turn your
eyes into narrow slits. You look away. Yet the sand gets in the eyes.
We march on. We ride on. We do not know. We do not understand. We
conquer. Conquer what? Broken needle and endless horizon. There is
no reference point. The horizon expands ever more. Le mirage. Le
deluge. What do you know?
Children of Cyberia: unite! Tired old man hollers to vanishing
sandals. Pigs! All snouts to the trough where the cry should have
been all hands on deck. What do you know? What do you understand?
Feel the heat? Feel the sand in the nostrils? Pigs!
Father Yanaros long dead (so is Kazantzakis). White bones with no
landmark. The children fight. One hill is gained, another is lost.
The score sheet says nil all. One day I shall tell you what God spoke.
Comfortable? Of course, you are. Brace yourselves because this is
end of comfort. This is end of pastures. This is sand in your eye and
sand in your heart land. It stretches on and on and on.
You will die poor because your horizons are limitless and your domains
are endless. You will die poor because thoughts are self-replicating
and your mind is turned upon itself. Thus came the whispers off the
walls from old Nitchenka! Darling Nitchenka, what do I know? What do
I understand?
This relentless coming back. This relentless circle. This stupid,
relentless, unforgiving sand. This relentless, recursive eternity.
This relentless knowing. This relentless knowing. This relentless
knowing.
The High Priests sleep.
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