Silas Thorne's Journal

I want a skateboard mind of youth
to fly freestyle through open windows
into the new age strange,
it's pixellated vibrance
scattering hues on bare white patches
colouring me in.

My heroes could be masters of online battles
where nobody dies, but everyone
gets RSI,
or I could be a kungfu master of textology
my fingers hardened flat by tapping
the metal held in my palm,
a thousand times a day...

but I was Seeded too soon
my Spacies training unable to Counterstrike your advances,
my hardware, mostly 80s
looks frantically for the right software
while its download options are limited,
my iron finger training too slow,
like a zombie pianist
trying to play the Minute Waltz.
I hang Beethoven and Muse around my neck
wondering how they got there
and what to do with the other gigs they play in.