mankazam

THE LITTLE PIXEL HEART

Last night I imagined that I actually lived inside of a computer... like a little computer person.

In this imagination, I was living a normal little computer person life. I worked hard attending to the needs of the Onlookers, who spent their days staring at us through the glass, and typing away on their keyboards. It was frequently tedious work as I felt completely detached from the Onlookers that I serviced. This detachment was intentional. We had been taught as youngsters that any form of personal involvement with the Onlookers should be avoided, as they we incapable of emotion. I never questioned this.

Recreationally there were a number of activities that I indulged in to try escape the numbness of my work. To recharge, I would bath in streams of light that fluctuated between turquoises, yellows, and whites. I nurtured my scrapbook, filling it with pictures of my favourite things, like Helvetica and Georgia. I would try redecorating my home, preferring to avoid the generic wallpapers that other little computer people were so content with. Often I would simply sit and re-watch old Quicktimes. I particularly loved nature documentaries.



I was starting to grow tired of these activities as they were becoming routine. So many times I would just do nothing. Nothing is terrible. It's terrible, because it makes you think. When you think you begin to question things. Sometimes you question the very things that you have always taken for granted, and probably shouldn't question. I began to wonder why we were told not to become attached to our work. It was our work after all, and we should feel something there.

Then one day, whilst attending an Onlooker, I began to panic. I needed to know more. My work had to serve a purpose. I decided to take a risk. I spoke to the Onlooker, pretending to be one of them. At first there was nothing special as we spoke about the Onlookers day. Slowly, I began to notice something though. Between writing the words, reading mine, and thinking of what next to say, the Onlooker would play with their hair, giggle, smile, and suck on the end of their pen. The Onlooker would also use allot of adjectives: words like fantastic, disgusting, awesome, and irritating. We did not do this often, because in our work we were meant to do and not feel.

Suddenly, I was filled with this sensation. I can only describe it as "sublime". All we had been taught was wrong. The Onlookers did have emotions! I felt my work now had purpose. I should try connect with as many Onlookers as possible. I would always have to pretend to be one of them, because they could never know about us. I didn't care though.

In my "sublime" state, I was filled with so much exhilaration that a single tear rolled down my cheek. It wasn't a big tear, only a couple pixels large and not very detailed. Still, the Onlooker saw it.



What happened next was unexpected. The Onlooker acted as through nothing was going on. For them, this must have been a glitch in the system. My picture on their monitor would be incapable of crying little tears. Still, I couldn't help but think that they should show empathy for my tears, like I for theirs. Even if they were pixel tears. Would they have shown empathy if it were real tears? Surely they would... surely?

It was once I was finished with the Onlooker that it struck me. I should never have known about this. The Onlooker would never believe in my pixel tears, of which I was now crying in abundance. There was no escaping the inevitable, because I had a function. I could not choose a destiny. It was my fate to service the Onlookers, and I knew that no matter what I said or did, they would never believe in my pixel smiles, my pixel heart, and my pixel love. I was in little computer despair.

In my imagination of me as a little computer person, he began to imagine me - the real person. My little computer person must have pictured what it would be like to live with the freedom of the Onlookers. He knew his only salvation would be his imagination of something that he could never have. He pictured the real me doing all the ordinary things that the real me does. Except he truly did not understand the Onlookers. In his imagination the real me would have pixels tears, pixels thoughts, and pixel dreams.... which of course, are logistically and scientifically impossible to love.






Another ManKaZam Disco.

PS. Clearly I need something to occupy my time right now.
Credit to Wax Stag and O W L S for the vid.