a lost lamb...

Sun Sep 9 04:59:42 CEST 2001

The Ballad of the Electric Sheep
who inside was really a lost lamb...

Once 

when I was a cyber artist
I used to hide 
behind a mask
some call it an alias
some call it a womb
some call it just plain scared...

All those wasted hours
of fun causing mayhem
killing time while 
killing one¹s real self
and my life¹s
possible other selves

You see
I didn¹t get it...

Honest
I just didn¹t get it...
life that is

my projects and actions
were autistic in function
exploring new ideas
but they  
were not real
or alive 
because inside
I was dead

I used technology
to advertise entropy
on the back
of extropian dreams
keeping that flame
burning like a flag

but soon that flag
began to melt
like most illusions do
and time ate away at
my dystopian pangs

my mask began to feel
the gravity
and it had weight
declaring nothing but
the truth¹s 
the self lies
such vulnerable lies...

those vulnerable eyes
the windows to my soul
were closed
shut
not seeing

I was so busy
trying to be out there
in the world
the perfect object(s) of
self desire

I was always right
and the world was wrong
that is why I was
created after all
wasn¹t it?
To put things right?

I used to believe that
empathy for others
was a failure
a weakness
a western designed
sentimental scheme
a Hollywood dream

I believed that ideas
were the passport
out of death in life
as well death in art

So I became an activist
a cyber artist
with a difference
I was  not only one
I was many

First there was one of me
then there was two
and then I multiplied
and then there 4 
I soon became sixteen
of me
and now I am just
one...

that weight
that Ixion¹s wheel
that I ignorantly
rested on my shoulder
was the mask

It really
was not me

I now that that now

As I punched
out at the world
with my hurting
I soon realised that
I was punching
at me

Each act of anger
was a moment
of self loathing
hidden by masculinity
and social programming

the default of hatred
war and gusto
disguised as honour
fooled me
for a while

I realise now
that I was asleep
in a coma
and it had become
my home
the womb

that electric womb
did once pulse 
its cold juice in 
and around my cranium
I had lost contact
with my heart

All my dreams
had become
the body electric
shimmering with a light
so bright
it was as though
I was alive

But I was not
really home

I saw the contempt
that I had created
in my domain
the cyber world
the place that I so
arrogantly claimed
as mine

As others questioned
my cyber antics
I shouted at them
with a hatred
of a lost lonely child

The truth is
that I am really human
and the tears that I
weep are a barometer
of the foolishness
that I feel

And as I watch
other electric sheep
dreaming and pissing
their souls away
in that ever blustery
ecstatic wind

creating their own
masks and mannerist
tasks
I know that what ever
I say is of no use
for they are dead
at present

but once they wake
and time has passed
a fresh light will
shine

I was brave enough
to throw that jigsaw
puzzle called life
into the air
watching
at last
using my eyes
seeing where they
actually land

I have not found god
or the answer to life
and those useless questions
designed to distract
and annoy
I have found
home...

a place without walls
a place without nationhood
a place that resides
inside of me
and the one I love 

(a spontaneous poem/prose declaring that re-invention is not always the way
home. And there are many people who are homeless - physically, mentally as
well as emotionally. The most lost, are the one¹s who hide behind the mask
of logic, the god of objectivity. The doctor¹s knife. For behind that
muffled disguise is a subjective entity, riddled by the very natural state
we know as dysfunction. And dysfunction is dare I say it? A kind of truth.
Like a self lie. Like doubt, like death, birth and of course that thing that
we have labelled LOVE...)

marc garrett
http://www.furtherfield.org

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