tallonrk1
06-14-2013, 03:59 AM
The year is 2000.
Not 2001, nor 2002,
But 2000: the start of a new decade.
And there is a small child
Staring into a digitalized screen
That forever will fade
Into the secret depths of his memory.
Oh, how he will remember when he smiled
At the slightest idiosyncrasies
Of the virtual figures moving along the screen.
He is playing “The Sims”.
Not “The Sims 2”, nor “The Sims 3”,
But “The Sims”: the start of it all.
Oh, how he will eventually long
With a powerful air of nostalgia
To return to this moment once he is sixteen.
Nobody else.
Just him, a quiet room,
And an intricate world where possibility lies.
Nobody else,
Except for those incompetent figures,
Guided by a higher intelligence much more wise
Than themselves.
Oh, how he will question why his life seems bereft
Of a similar intelligence to lend a helping hand.
But right now,
Here in this musty old room,
Where many memories will be left,
This is merely a passing thought.
Instead, he is immersed in this alternate world,
Where financial troubles are a rosebud
And some well-placed exclamations away
From being remedied.
The soft orchestral music,
That inspires creation,
innovation.
And these virtual people:
So fake, so artificial,
Yet how real, how human.
A digital fire is unfurled,
A Sim is cooked to death,
And a tear comes to the boy’s eye.
Another Sim earns that final promotion
To earn that level ten job position,
And from that child there is nothing but joy,
Pride—
Accomplishment—
Perfection.
Not 2001, nor 2002,
But 2000: the start of a new decade.
And there is a small child
Staring into a digitalized screen
That forever will fade
Into the secret depths of his memory.
Oh, how he will remember when he smiled
At the slightest idiosyncrasies
Of the virtual figures moving along the screen.
He is playing “The Sims”.
Not “The Sims 2”, nor “The Sims 3”,
But “The Sims”: the start of it all.
Oh, how he will eventually long
With a powerful air of nostalgia
To return to this moment once he is sixteen.
Nobody else.
Just him, a quiet room,
And an intricate world where possibility lies.
Nobody else,
Except for those incompetent figures,
Guided by a higher intelligence much more wise
Than themselves.
Oh, how he will question why his life seems bereft
Of a similar intelligence to lend a helping hand.
But right now,
Here in this musty old room,
Where many memories will be left,
This is merely a passing thought.
Instead, he is immersed in this alternate world,
Where financial troubles are a rosebud
And some well-placed exclamations away
From being remedied.
The soft orchestral music,
That inspires creation,
innovation.
And these virtual people:
So fake, so artificial,
Yet how real, how human.
A digital fire is unfurled,
A Sim is cooked to death,
And a tear comes to the boy’s eye.
Another Sim earns that final promotion
To earn that level ten job position,
And from that child there is nothing but joy,
Pride—
Accomplishment—
Perfection.