Technological Breakdown

Ok Computer! You win! I should be able to get my writing, old recordings, photos and passwords back….if I can find a donor to implant the technological heart into and fire it back up into electric life. I wonder if the laptop if currently dreaming of electric sheep, or if it is dormant and silent, not knowing or feeling or sentient to the sheer amount of fucking trouble caused by it’s breakdown with no warning. Pink screen of death.

This has been too much dying, too much ending, too many new starts. Every beginning is not so much a little death, as a razing to the ground of all that has been. I am not saying the past is good or preferable, but at least I knew where I was when it was merely the computer and the men trying to kill me. I don’t even know who or what the Big Bad is anymore. Is it Fate? Chance? Kings? Please no more desperate men! I can’t take any more.

My hands feel too big on this keyboard. My fingers don’t fit in the same way. It feels like getting used to a new guitar, or feeling my way around a piano keyboard that isn’t mine. Me and that old computer ran many many miles together, hundreds of thousands of words and photos and sounds and secrets. I don’t even know where I am any more. I do need to not let it slide and start writing down on paper, every single user name and password that holds the keys to my entire life, before I lose anymore. I fancy a low fi, luddite corkboard with cheerful multicolored pins and post it notes. I already have a huge keyring that proclaims Taurean identity. I don’t believe in star signs, but it is luminous and I can fish it easily out of the depths of my sling bag. I fear losing anymore than I already have done.

OK Computer, Yorke and the boys railing against the machine in the most exciting depresso-electronic rock to ever grace their airwaves and emerge from the soundboards and tubes, seems to be fitting. Life keeps raining shit down at me from a great height, the Gucci little piggies still scare me witless. Who isn’t scared of the consumerists and the cops? I want to disappear into a giant electronic hug and beg, No Surprises! I am not about to drown in grief or throw myself into a carbon monoxide deep sleep. I want to live, but fuck, does it all need to be so hard? Does it all need to keep on judging me, hurting me, dragging me along by my hair, trying to force my round peg self into the square holes of society?

I hate to sound the alarm, but it is all far too quiet round here.

…and my wordpress editing pages look wrong, I’ve lost all my photos, and I can’t seem to control the zoom function adequately.

F11*! it all!

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