Prose and musing by Sam I am.
Writer of cyberpunk, dystopian fiction, and nonfiction. Plus whatever drives me at the time.
Do we have pearls to spare?
I doubt it round here.
There is no wisdom either.
Not enough imagination.
To realise they are stuck.
Or too pacified.
Petrified.
Of where the next meal is coming from.
I am lucky.
Many are not.
I should do more.
We all should. But especially me.
But I am still grieving.
From the shock of the last time.
I need to rebuild what was mine.
I take no pleasure in my laziness.
I take only shame.
Time will tell if I make anything from this name.
But making something is overrated.
Production is productionised.
Economised for your pleasure.
No art for art's sake.
No purpose or meaning.
Touch your feet, touch the ceiling.
And yawn.
It’s all getting old.
Like it used to be.
Before we were in it.
I hear them at the door.
But they’re not coming in.
They weren’t invited.
Let’s get this done.
But they won’t be coming.
We’ll leave them behind.
It’s the only thing we can do.
If they won’t listen.
get on the bus.
Before it leaves the station.
Get back on time.
Take care of you.
They’ll be fine.
And so, will i.
... words by me, image by wonder ai, direct by me.
