104 keys of primo stuff at my fingertips, freshly screened, and ready to interject my thoughts, with a constant flow of totally new awareness.
they allow me to display with a diction, airy, psychedelic, poetic dreams, that come with the highs of inserting, my favorite controls, on line between the webs of my fingered spasms,
mainlined with other addicts who are driven to select from, thesauriest assortments of brightly colored choices, and allow them entry into their system.
each tab can move the souls flights over great spaces, with a little margin for error and can shift minds to focus on escape.
all sense of time is deleted, in the hours spent loading the downs, and the highs of the dopey, and the delightful, into my network of brain sin-napses.
they will find my bones here, some far day in the distant future, slumped over each key- bored because my soul was snared by the web.
overdosed on spam and eggheads, starved for my lack of enlightenment, with my skull cobwebbed to the still lit monitor and my vacant eyes staring out the windows of the world that made me a habitual peeping tom
they will bury me in the recycle bin, and erase all evidence of the hard drive that made me function.