It’s not me staring at a blank screen but the blank screen
staring at me, that most alarms me. There comes a time, though, when it doesn’t
just stare but taunts and jibes me; and then it moves. The screen warps and
weaves, pulses out and ripples back; slickly transitioning from convex to
concave, a rippling wave of sinusoidal snigger.
Reality swings back and all goes cold. Silent. A white void before me, an open expanse of
temptation – the arena of dreams, thought and imagination. A universe inviting
creation. Such promise, such possibility ill met with silence and inaction.
Frustrated desire to let the forces of creation let rip, energy burning itself
spent.
Soon night time has arrived and the void is not yet filled, nor dented, marked or encroached upon. Hours ticked by, frigid torment not laid in release.
