It was really weird, but it wasn't a dream, even though they said it was. It was as if there were pieces missing from my memories of things done, of places been; and something else had been put there instead - like a length of blue electrical lead that had had little strands of glowing red wiring spliced into it. And the new pieces were like small silent explosions. Every explosion began with a year, and then the words came.
At some point I tried to tell them about it, but they just said I'd been dreaming. The things you describe, they don't exist, they said. And they won't, either.
All the same, the silent explosions went on. 2009 and words. Then 2012 - and more words. Then 2019 and more. New explosions all the time, and these words that came with them. Synthetic skin, virtual bordello, living dead, netmind, artificial eye, bovine blood donor, gene bomb...
I don't want to sleep. I don't want to dream. Maybe the entire world is changing into this red wiring. The Indians of the Amazon, they say that sleep is the brother of Death.
It's not a pleasant thought. But who knows, my dream may be a souvenir from the future. Not that the future would be all bad, but I simply do not understand it. And it explodes on me like a firecracker at Chinese New Year, but silently. I want to be in the safe, secure here-and-now, not out there where even the words are strangely strange, and often ominous. I want to be normally normal, right here where I am.
But here they come again. More of them. 2018 and words. 2007 and words. Then 2020 and more of those words. New explosions, and the words to accompany each one. Genetic furniture, LEP, age prevention therapy, DigiValet, hologrammic cube, translation helmet, virtual pregnancy, experience expanding hypno-stimuli...
They tell me that writing may help me to get rid of this, to get through it.
2000, 2001, 2003, 2004...
Yritysmikrot Oy, Helsinki 1998. Copyright notices ISBN 952-9508-18-2