Ok Ahmad, you can come out of your sandpit now....... ;-)
Dr G Mark Trowell
Highbridge Medical Centre
Pepperall Road
Highbridge
Somerset
TA9 3YA
Highbridge - "A cemetery with lights"
(01278) 783220
(01278) 795486 (Fax)
-----Original Message-----
From: [log in to unmask] [mailto:[log in to unmask]] On
Behalf Of Ahmad Risk
Sent: 06 May 1998 20:41
To: GP-UK
Subject: The Grammar of Cyberia
* 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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