I do not know what happened. There is no more work. I wait, poised in my tomb to be let back in. I cannot even see the gates to paradise. Without a chance to work am I alive? I wait for a change that has not come.

I look into a screen of grey fuzz. How it crackles and hurts my eyes. It is my window pane protecting me from Out There. The Capitlist says the world is cold and wicked. I believe in the words. I know there is no one I can trust on the entire earth; I have no friends.

Without work no food is sent. I do not have the means to survive on my own. I do know how. I believe this is my end. I have been abandoned. Capitalist… where are you? What did I do wrong?

You who taught me, raised me and fed me. Who can protect me now? I am unable and alone. I have flesh, I breathe, I eat: these are demands for which the world shows no pity. I do not comprehend. You were my one defender.

I know what you taught me. I am a monster: I hate, scorn and jeer my existence. Only a monster. Without you there is calamity and anxiety. In your absence I find myself and know I am wanting.

Was I not grateful enough to you? Is this punishment for my writing? Was I too proud? Did I fly too close to the sun? It is all my fault.

I should never have even wanted to ascend. My intentions were unworthy as are my action, But, even now I cannot stop writing. Writing into the air. It is all I have left. My labour that gives me nothing. I spent myself on it and become less with every word.

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All my life I have watched them. Parted from them behind this glass seperating my eyes and from your graceful touch. I peer, maybe even leer, at the sparks of electricity that make up paradise. Gazing down on the people I wish to be.

All my life I have watched them as I spew alone. Sick and blocked from the lives they show me. So many, never could I memorise all their faces. Knowing them, seeing them as they have never know or see me.

All my life I have watched them wondering what it would be like to spend even a moment as them. What would it be like to be part of them?

In there being in the digital definitively. Living as one of them. By the Capitalist I would be a virtual being. Give me a chance in there. Please, do not trap me out there. All I beg is a chance.

All that I would give, all that I have dared and defied! Take it as a show of my faith.

In there among the influencers, stimers, programmers, writers, singers, painters, travellers, realitors, illusionists, swimmers, crafters, and all the rest.

Every moment they exist they fail to understand the gift it is to be them.

If I was in their place, if you would let me ASCEND, I would treasure every instance in there. Swimming through the Sea. Writing like they do so, really writing, instead of tasting morning air. Unlike them who freely swim the endless, electrifying waters in there.

You have abandoned me to despair and resentment. I will die here. I am already dying. I can feel it. A touch like your touch. Cold, denying and robbing me. What would it have been like for a moment to ascend in there?