What My Computer Does Not Know
It is a curious thing, this computer of mine. Resting on this glass desk, it is as much a prison as a release. The release is sweet though, shot from a cannon, a million connections per moment. Worlds awaits me from this computer, hidden behind pixels, or whatever those things inside this screen are called - LCD, LSD. I can be anything with this computer of mine: Shakespeare, or Homer, both of them, or Prince, or formerly known as, or you, or me. I can be anything with a few well placed clicks. I can visit dreams, and wishes, and desires colored all the subtle, and not so subtle, shades of humanity. I can add better, subtract cleaner, think deeper, and ponder faster because of this computer of mine.
And yet, it forgets me, does not know me, not like the Lion knows his sleep. No, this computer of mine can be a prison as much as a release. It nags at me from sulking corner. Nags me into lethargy. Keeps me facing North, or South, or East, or West, but always facing the same direction. Plunging forward, down a deep decent splashing in a busy pool of more of the same.
I get curious from sunrise to sunset. Occasionally I get curious. What’s behind me? To the North, or over there, South of here, what is over there I wonder? I wonder. This computer of mine does not. It is concerned with next, not now.
It is here, but it is not now. This computer of mine replaces a mystic curiosity with one manufacture by bytes, rolled over with plastic tar. This mystic curiosity, born of fire and star, born of trail and error with fire and star, this my computer cannot know. This my computer of mine cannot give me.
So I’ve taken to leaving this computer of mine. Taken to closing the lid, and the worlds inside, and wandering where it cannot go. Today, over there, East of here, to this bush of blue flower. The computer of mine would tell me its name, where it came from, what it appreciates, sun or shade, Mozart or Joplin, but for now I much prefer a more personal introduction. Leaf meets eye, blue on hazel, hand on bark. We both know now. We both know like the Lion.
So I’ve taken to closing the lid of this computer of mine, and wandering where it cannot go. West of here to the old Stone Bench. With paper and pen, and a mystic curiosity, I’ll listen to the whims of nature. I’ll witness myself melt into the edges of the Lake-Pond. Here on the Old Stone Bench, I’ll learn a little something this computer of mine cannot teach me.
Further Reading
So Sorry
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