Virtual footsteps
Along a digital shore;
Pixel waves crash.
A salty particle spray
Fills the air
Simulated car horns
Punctuate the Windlight smog
As poseball hookers
Ply their trade beneath
Full bright, streetlight glare
Swirling colours
Fill phantom fields
With hippy vibes
As cutout Beatles watch
Under marmalade skies
The sky is crowded with
Imaginary floating homes
Jostling for space;
Whilst the land far below
Lies barren and bare
Space is not the final frontier
It’s a virtual playground
Of make believe monsters
And roleplay reconstructions:
Where everyone, can hear you scream
You fly through the air;
Fake wind streaming,
Grace personified.
Only to land
Like a badly-driven blancmange
Everything you can imagine
Is real.
Some things are real
That you don’t wish to imagine.
I can’t imagine why
Music fills the air
As if the world
Were a giant elevator.
But fortunately, there’s a button
Marked ‘off’
A virtual melting pot
Of creed, colour, faith
And nationality,
Speaking the universal language
Of typing in the wrong window
Scantily clad maidens
Mingle with furry creatures
Dancing salsa
To rock n roll music;
And nobody bats an eye
Teleportation,
Virtual sensation,
Lack of information
Leads to desperation:
The LM has gone
RL is not SL,
But same in both worlds;
There’s a person behind the avatar,
But this is just a game
So, who exactly is right?
My groups are hidden
But I have nothing to hide
Honest!
Yours are not,
(But maybe they should be?)
Log in.
Log out.
Rinse.
Repeat.
Relog.
s. x
For the benefit of Mr. Kite
There will be a show tonight on trampoline
The Hendersons will all be there
Late of Pablo Fanques Fair-what a scene
Billy Connolly – Being For The Benefit Of Mr Kite
