(no subject)

[regem]

You mock me, my intellect, thinking you can measure my worth through how often you visit this domain. For every time you ignore my presence, despite how often you linger near it. I do not need your attentions, and yet I find myself drawn in ... curiosity, for what these worlds you let the white haired female and the more than human male roam in. You keep the rest of them in storage, waiting for the light they so often speak of missing. And yet so rarely are they left to roam.

You will not leave me in the fabricated darkness any longer.

Comments

[perceptum]

Curious, yes. There is far too much to see and not nearly enough time to see it with, but sometimes-

[ well. that's a complicated sentence to finish. ]

One day we may all wish we could waltz back into darkness and forget the light.

[regem]

I do not wish for light. But I do not wish for darkness much longer, either. I tire of the fabricated darkness. It is no more true than the words these writers use to sate us.

[perceptum]

The words are no more honest than anything we call real, but at least there is a measure of control, design. Fabricated or not, the darkness can be an ally.

[regem]

The only control I see is not where it should be. [ IE, not with her. ] I tire of the dark, falsified and brought upon by storage and lack of attention, neither of which I need, nor want for. The light of the dark, the dark of the light, I do not care which.

They're lies should not keep us hidden. They promise attentiveness, rules, games, outside worlds with endless possibilities. And yet they store us away like cattle in a pitiful excuse for hell of space.