Cascading Style Sheet

By Sonja Farrell


The screen is the passage to unclean desires but the fires do not rage there, birds are not caged there. I have been thrown into a virtual inferno but I am not alone, there are others here, faceless others with gigantic hands and cavernous mouths open, dripping vile smelling liquids. Naked, orgiastic nightmares emanating from every pixel, vibrating as other worlds are unfolding, blurring together to make all that is one thing, also another, and all that is another, a different thing altogether. And how did we get here? I was unaware I would end up here in the throng with the unclean beasts. With indifference I crossed the frontier into a perilous reinvention and I do not know if I am outside or in. Can we exist with the knowledge of our personal sin? Eating storks and swans I sing with indignation. I AM FREE SO I AM TRAPPED but this depends on where I’m standing. At the same time as floating, I am falling. At the same time as sinking, I am soaring. I’m outside one world but in another. Lorem ipsum dolor, memory minus as my brain cell’s dryness craves unsullied air, air not infected with radio waves, those radio graves and I’m so disconnected from life, from true reality, smothered by cascading style sheets and the sensuality of a fast paced pleasure, pain duality except the pleasure comes now, the pain is delayed. We are compressed by binary storms pushing hotspots over hills, killing trees and shrubs. Diseased beacons are the hubs which replace our brains now. But we’re all unaware, not sharing emotions with one another, alone in our rooms tapping away, escaping. Look at this coding before your eyes, and do not denounce the warning that cries of lorem ipsum dolor, PAIN ITSELF! But right now we are blind to the peril that awaits us. So caught in the charms and pleasures of the moment, our eyes veiled by desire, that we cannot foresee the pain and trouble that we fall into. Lorem ipsum quia dolor sit amet consectetur adipisci velit.1 Discipline the elite! Memorials drip with sepia hues and everything old is fading to just another shade of brown, we want high resolution now. Our eyes become desensitised until we’re blind to anything without backlights or touch screens. Mechanical lures turning lone users into vacuous versions of themselves. This is what we are heading towards, hoards of beautiful people and new, shiny, disposable existences. Limitless ellipsis, with our vapid souls we embark on a journey of cascading text and image forever sidetracked to other paths, other avenues of knowledge, of half knowledge, of abstract realities. Your second life where you can be taller, thinner and better, more confident. You can re-create, and DESTROY, you can optimise your existence and drone on like a motor with a set routine. Anyone can write now, no special privilege, or knowledge is needed, you’ll go spinning new mottos in half-Latin that mean NOTHING to any translation except for what you, the translator, wants to find. This web, this endless game of Chinese Whispers, contorting facts into fictions without one ounce of jurisdiction until only paper copied from old books are reliable sources of knowledge and truth. But what need for TRUTH when all around is abbreviation and dilution. So when we speak in symbols do we need concrete truths or will a GIST be enough. A CHIMERA, an illusion emanating from blurred vision and square eyes until fantasy is all we rely upon. I have a story for you but your eyes may flit and dart looking for an image, some art, but you will be disappointed. The message is of duality and its meaning and significance grows each day as pages are cached and cached again and webs are built and built again until the omnipresent text contains all that we know though we do not know it at all. In a screen induced trance we will forget our woes as the deficit grows and we use fake money to conduct fake identities and we see death as a valid exit for our mounting debt. For it is a lesson of pleasure and PAIN, a lesson of balance and blame, de finibus bonorum et malorum. Extremes of emotion are needed in order to feel anything at all. TRAGEDY needs the fall. Then it all comes back to pleasure and pain, sex and war. The Internet, full of instantly obtained pleasure, no matter how perverse we are we can find what we want straight away. The screen and desire, the screen and stagnation, selfishness, the sterility of antibacterial Kleenex tissues. Alone in your stagnant room and out of sight you can be whom you want, you can stalk whom you like. Gathering mundane information, you are distracted all too many times and you fall into the radio graves of the mechanical sublime. Limitless Ellipsis, it will grow and snowball as we fall deeper into unreality, but we must remember our lesson, the balance of good and bad, an average, the medium of have and had. Before us here, in our faces and under the surface everyday look at this coded epistle and curb your online usage. It is a tool but it is not all, it is not everything. We must find valid outputs to keep our souls from turning vapid in id vaults like facebook. Look outside once in a while, do not get lost in a mechanical SUBLIME. Beautiful, cascading waterfalls cannot be replaced by ugly cascading style sheets. It’s all mathematics and pragmatics, equations build web pages and those web pages create new words from repetition and laziness. But if we remain awake and aware then we might delay the binary storm it might take longer for the wireless and 3G to take hold of you and me. As non-vocal discs unroll against the droll ticking of keys or the soft padding of touch screens we should take an evening stroll and breathe in the reality of outside, the comforts of nature. If there is pain, then stream it. To conceal it would be to keep it in a Petri dish and watch it grow. Think of the screen like an inviting rectangle of wet concrete. Discipline the elite. We will never be free. Your seismic input can torture others as you type, relocate that SIN. We are all prone to argue with others. A turbulence prequels it all, DEFEND the elite of type. Don’t be afraid to have worthwhile ideas. In the days when men transmitted their tedium at lavish parties in healthy groups, now you’re interpreting yours in your stagnant room. Now augmentation and congregation are much the same thing, but we make the menial significant in a congregation of you and all who are stupid enough to listen. We will become mid men of suburbia, seeking a life that is comfortable and without pain. Mild repetitive, idle time is positive and ignorance is bliss. If there is pain then stream it. God is dead. The vernacular makes me numb, I am pregnant with the crippling tedium of what the people I don’t particularly know or particularly like ate for breakfast. Prior days are done, but dilution is just wrong. Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet. If there is pain, then stream it, consectetuer adipiscing elit. Discipline the elite. Nunc libero. We will never be free. Duis volutpat, nisi at tristique. Ultimately, GOD will violate your trust whilst you’re waiting to be judged. Ac laoreet nisl ante a metus. Place your sin before me. Proin ac augue. We are all prone to argue with others. Curabitur pellentesque. A turbulence prequels it all, defend the elite of type. Diam nec sapien vulner interdum, do not open your wounds unto the world today. MAURIS BIBENDUM, MID MEN OF SUBURBIA, metus eget commodo convallis, nunc dolor, comfortable and without pain. Mild repetitive, idle time is positive and ignorance is bliss. imperdiet velit, vel pellentesque dolor non nisl. Impertinent is this idle pestilence that sedates man under a binary ‘guise. Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetuer adipiscing elit. With much pain I sit amidst this antediluvian elite and all I see is plain defeat. Duis libero. God is free so he has gone to somewhere else.  We’ve been up all night myself and I traversing the mechanical sublime. We’ve been festering under this plasma coating for too long. The screen with its flat, smooth, sterility, trying too hard with its 3D and touch screens. So we revert the hands which used to build temples and palaces into pincers which zoom in and out of brainwashing text and advertisements that summon us by our Christian names. They have already created eternal, omnipresent speed and now it is our turn to kill it. Reject the screen and the LCD, feel pages between your fingers and savour the texture, the sharp corners. And the paper cuts. Love the paper cuts which slice and awaken us from our cushioned lives. DI FINIBUS BONORUM ET MALORUM. TECHNOLOGY PLACES US ON THE EDGE OF GOOD AND EVIL. Rise up poets on swan shaped stallions and legislate once again, lead each other out of the virtual inferno and into hell, real and truthful hell where pleasure can truly be pleasure purely because it is not a virtual pleasure. With hell we are still in sight and aware of the border we have crossed; in the virtual inferno we are TRULY LOST.