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Dreams of a Dark Future

Tom Eicher
    You had sleeping problems that winter. Not because of your
delta inducer running out of power; you didn't have a delta inducer.
It was the winter of 1994/1995.

    Awake in the middle of the night. You fumble for the switch of
your bedside table's lamp. Once you finally find it, the glaring pain
of the sudden light makes you swear softly.

    The ultra-red alarm clock shows 00:48; black on the strange
non-gray of an LCD display. It's monotonous calling will be proof
of it's sudden wake in less less than 6 hours, reminding you of
the end of this night. Perhaps it wouldn't have to. Increasingly
often you do find your way back to the monotony of the mind which
awaits you for little less than 40 hours a week.

    What will the new day bring ? For Case, for the Count or for
Molly every day covers the pulse of life. High-Tech, drug deals,
life or death. Hi-Lo.

    Wandering around the room, your hand comes to rest upon a
keyboard. Not a deck. No "Max Reverse" key. No slot for russian
military icebreakers. Instead there are 4 keys, with arrows pointing
in the 4 directions of the compass. An anachronism, you think. But
there's no way to jack in. No brain jack.

    You dream of dancing along the cutting edge of life, dancing
the dance, beautiful, dangerous, full of adrenaline.

    But there are account entries waiting for you, shell scripts.
If that's not bad enough, there's always some COBOL.

    You wish yourself to this future. This future, that perhaps
will never become reality. Because it's only up there, in your
imagination. And similar shaped in that of others.

    But everybody does shape it in his own way, and because of this
you know it'll never come true your way. That's why you return to
your bed to try and sleep for just a little longer, even without
delta inducer.


    tom-09-01-95
    (c)1995 Thomas Eicher
    translated tom-21-05-95
		
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