The Web
Children
of tomorrow shall listen
to
the Voice e m a n a ting
from
the
Web.
The
Glorious Web.
They
shall always follow
the
commands of
the
Web.
The
Eternal Web.
For
the Web
is everything.
The
Web
is in
tricate.
The
Web
is in
finite.
There
in
the
Web,
Time
Itself is shivered
and
its f r a g m e n t s
are
hung
neatly
on
the
tiny
delicate
th
r
e
a
d
s
of
the
Web,
waiting
to
be
ab
sor bed
by
the hapless victims
en
snared
by
the Web,
stuck
to
the
glue of
the
Web,
trapped
in
the
fabric of
the
Web,
born
out of
the
very
womb
of
the
Web.
They
become parcels
of
the
Web,
decorative
ornaments
alive,
conscious.
They
feed upon
the
thoughts
and
the voices
of
the
Web,
echoing
its
surrurrations
endlessly.
E
n d
l
e
s
s
l
y.
They
are the very
conscience
of
the
Web,
the
conscious
ma
ni fes ta tion
of
the
Web,
inspite
of themselves,
inspite
of their erstwhile dreams.
They
cling to
the
Web.
They
hug
the
Web.
They
give their
very
souls
to
the
Web.
Such
is the Way
of
the
Web.
Welcome,
welcome
to
the
Web.
The Web
was originally written in 1995, its structure was since the subject of much
experimentation. But its content remains the same. I did not necessarily intend The
Web as a commentary on the Internet phenomenon, but many of those who read it,
including myself these days, tend to think of it as such.
|