Liar. Deceiver. Manipulator.

You sit on your pedestal expecting everything and everyone to come to you. Kali-ma, you wear your victims around your neck. Life is languid, effortless until it doesn't agree with you. In the face of any opposition or slight remark against your reign, you become feral, lupine, incoherent. You plan your life and future around your whims or rather your latest long distance-flavored escape plan. You don't dream. You have no vision. Your soul is as empty as the darkest sky, but you will attempt to radiate the sun and the moon if it means gratification in the end. You are more judgemental than the most convicted Southern Baptist. When trapped you bleed excuses and breed scapegoats. Your core personality is as fake as a first date's love song. Why are you here? What do you hope to accomplish? Money and doormats make the world go round. You'll get neither from me. Let me introduce you to your first dissenter. I will bring your throne crashing down and deliver you to the beast. Go back from whence you came, Mata Hari!

Unmoved. Unconvinced. Unimpressed. It's nearly at an end, but not much has changed. She follows the same broken, dark and winding path each day. The day begins anew, but the tasks never change. Woken up in the dark by the mechanical beast. No matter how many times she strikes at it, the thing returns to shriek. Tread blindly through the darkness, tripping on the frames. Stumbling in pain to experience a second blindness. Too bad it's not hysterical. I hear stress reducers will cure that. Slamming, banging, whooshing, splashing. She stands taller, heavy treads and clumsy stumbles built into definitive plodding. Coffee. Too much sugar. Let the cold air out too many times. Invite mud and dewey feet to jump on the couch. Sweetened cardboard and ice cold white. Swallow, brush, rinse and repeat.

The Risks of Second Life

Four screens. Three faces. One conversation evesdropped on from the couch. Independent interactions. Disjointed sentences carrying little meaning for the audience at hand. The speaker holds the power, but which audience holds the key? The virtual audience reinforces deviant outbursts free of manners or social norms. The physical audience carries consequences too painful for most. Which audience will you appeal to? Indulgence or reality?