Welcome to: THELONGERTHEBETTER
Welcome to: THELONGERTHEBETTER
Norman Ohler
Mandelbrot-like patterns of sweat shine on the right side of the forehead of Maxx Ersatzgestalt. It is night. The blue-pale monitor of his computer moons the room. Sets. Looses. Dominant Light forces its way through the openings of the window shades and spills over the computer and Maxx and the wall against which he leans. His naked torso becomes a screen. Night. Not alone. No stars but abstract city:
It is night. Maxx drinks water. He longs for simplicity.( 1} Diffused colors shoot and shimmer like a display of never ending Northern photons. Blues and reds arc and flash and represent: Data moving through space: Telefon/Fax/E-mail: ever-present digital messages. Maxx can feel: the inferiority of individuals in the creation and dissemination of information. Outside, there is an organism, hungry for impulses-
Three times a week, Maxx Ersatzgestalt gets paid for his essence. His workplace: all the way on the top. The 71st floor of the
It is night. Flowing crystals on the skin of Maxx Ersatzgestalt. Quiet, soul-less light-wells. Constellations that chanage from moment to moment, with every transaction of data. Maxx feels like being inside a liquid universe.\footnote{2} Night -- doesn't exist anymore.
So little and shy and wipeable the letters on the monitor. Maxx sits in front of his computer and starts to write: anxious, disturbed. Sleepless-night-aura. More petting the keys than pressing them. He writes: this story. Then he activates his modem. Connects his computer with the Internet, with millions of other computers, millions of humans. He navigates through cyberspace and leaves this story at several digital crossings: accessible for an uncontrollable amount of people that can read the material and work with it.
File Sent proclaims the monitor and Maxx tries to gaze through it. He wants to follow his words, he desires to be a witness of their further destinies. He wants to experience the hidden meanings that are going to bloom. He feels connected with his words which by now may already have changed. He feels connected to his text -- and that's why he sets it free: his semen, his image of reality, or meaning, of life.
Maxx Ersatzgestalt leans back, and bathes his eyes in the sea of information that washes through his apartment. He knows: He is part. He is happy.
bibliography
1 Compare to Friedrich Nietzsche: Thus spoke Zarathustra. The Nightson,
2 Compare to Kristin Spence: Electrotecture. Wired Magazine, August/September.