768 lines, each containing 1024 pixels. That was what her monitor size was. It was roughly 85 pixels per inch each pixel had a off and a on state, when on its color was a toxic green phospherecence. At first one watched them prone from her medibed. The monitor was tilted from above and was at least 4ft. 6 inches away. Once her skelleton was stablized and the musculature was cultured properly she was capable of a simple range of movement, allowing her to sit upright and view the monitor in a more natural position.
The display had a constant stream of information, there was no way of pausing or replaying the information so one had to pay attention to what was on the screen or one would miss it. The information was not catigorized or maintained in any system and so it would be up to one to file the information in their own internal database in whatever order made sense to oneself. One segment might pertain to the short lifespan of the mayfly (scientific Order Ephemeroptera) and their lifecycle, and the next would be a article about the stockmarket crash at the turn of the century.
One couldent help but notice the chrononogical markers present in many of the articles. Such as the term century. She knew that a Century was a hundred years, like a decade was ten years, and a milenium must have been like a million years, but she diddnt know wich century they were talking about. Or wich century it was now? One read a press release about 20th Century FOX wich was a studio. She crossed refferenced this to Studio appartments (on the Upper West side) hitting a all time high of $4,000 per month. One had read that Time=Money, and this equasion seemed to corolate but she was sure that she was missing some pertinant facts that would allow her to compute the accurate century. If 20c=$4,000 then each c=$200. If she had any other commodities to compare centuries to she would be able to confirm the data, but that was the only date associated for studio's.
Life was like that, she was always wondering how the data fed together,
fit-together,
felt together,
she liked to force it together but it never really worked together to help her understand what the endless stream was really all about, and since the stream was so constant she really only had a few nanoseconds to think about where each bit and bite fit into her synaptic files before she had to think about the next. The program was only 6 hours long, and then there would be a hour long music break where the one would sustanance and sleep systems, this was the time where one would think.
fit-together,
felt together,
she liked to force it together but it never really worked together to help her understand what the endless stream was really all about, and since the stream was so constant she really only had a few nanoseconds to think about where each bit and bite fit into her synaptic files before she had to think about the next. The program was only 6 hours long, and then there would be a hour long music break where the one would sustanance and sleep systems, this was the time where one would think.
Some times she reviewed, but usually she dreamed. Closing her eyes and allowed the information to connect to itself in a abstract and beautiful way. She imagined that she was a part of a family unit. That she had a father and cousin and funny uncle who loved her. One would toss the pigskin with the old man in the driveway, while her cousin sent her text messages about going to prom together wich they had to rent a limo for. Her uncle would make them all dinner, he would serve fruit salad and they would make s'mores. Everything was perfect in the dream, it was so real one could almost imagine that she would open her eyes and there they would all be. Funny uncle in his apron, Cousin in his tuxedo, and her dear old dad in his bathrobe and slippers smoking on his corncob pipe.
Of course she diddnt know what any of these things really looked like, or taisted like, felt like or even if she liked them. They were words, data, bites of information to her. That was all she really had.
AUTHORS NOTE: I know litterally nothing of this image. It is sepia so it could be of any age. It really reminds me of a maxfield parrish painting of a girl looking at the stars. I figured that I would go only with what the painting depicted, that this was her entire world what fit into the images frame. So she knows nothing but the monitor, the table and the tubes that I assume feed her and take away her bodys waste. The story wrote itself like a poem, several moments I allowed myself to slip into alliteration and rhyme. I also attempted (only moderately sucessfully I'll admit) to show the confusion between reading the words of something you have never experienced. As I get older Im realizing more and more how very little I understood of the books I read as a child. Concepts that im only now starting to understand after having experienced some emotions and events first hand. Im only 35 though I feel old before my time, what understandings will I have when I am 50 or 80 that will make my current understanding seem naieve?
AUTHORS NOTE: I know litterally nothing of this image. It is sepia so it could be of any age. It really reminds me of a maxfield parrish painting of a girl looking at the stars. I figured that I would go only with what the painting depicted, that this was her entire world what fit into the images frame. So she knows nothing but the monitor, the table and the tubes that I assume feed her and take away her bodys waste. The story wrote itself like a poem, several moments I allowed myself to slip into alliteration and rhyme. I also attempted (only moderately sucessfully I'll admit) to show the confusion between reading the words of something you have never experienced. As I get older Im realizing more and more how very little I understood of the books I read as a child. Concepts that im only now starting to understand after having experienced some emotions and events first hand. Im only 35 though I feel old before my time, what understandings will I have when I am 50 or 80 that will make my current understanding seem naieve?
No comments:
Post a Comment