Virtual Reality


Sometimes it seems
that the division
is only an


Time stands still,
As idle as a painted ship upon a painted ocean
Here in this lonely place
Where I listen to Grieg
And pen another languid line.

What awareness could I claim
In this laconic half-life?
I, the perpetual stranger
Looking in through the glass at all these
Remote portraits,
Phasing in and out of their images,
Changing scenes and props
Under the dim stage-lights in my mind.

I am not sorrowful, just filled with profound detachment,
Some deep-set unease
At the realization
Of my schism
                          With the world around me.


Living in a TV;
I'm living in a vacuum tube
Filled with glowing

                                                       Pixel people,
                              Pixel props,
                                                                           Pixel voices,
                                                  Pixel ideas,
                                                                                          Pixel life,
               Pixel death,
                                        Pixel dust...

Can anyone tell me what will happen when
the guy watching this stupid show
decides to turn off the TV
and go to bed?


How strange it is
to think that other people
                                                            out there
often feel the same way
as I do.


Some questions can never be answered.

George Chadderdon © 1993