Blog Prompt # 4
An I-mac is idle upon a wooden desk. A screen saver wavers to and fro. It is dim but day out-doors.
I am at the desk but my thighs lie beneeth and my arms rest on top. I am wearing a beard. I know every in and out of photoshop. I am a hacker. I can steal onto any resricted site and inflitrate the most confidential govenrment firewalls. This would permit me to expose the corrupt abandoned truth and the moral bankruptcy and the harsh counterfiet reality of the world once and for all.
The Machine in the Future
A swivel chair sits high upon a tremulous metal pole. The chair is bearing me. The pole is black afixed by bolts to The Machine. The machine measures miles in each dimension. Storm tornados eddy in its wake. The chair's strident creak pireces through the dun of the machine. Others man the machine down below. We lay the countryside to waste in our imprudence.