My modem recently burnt out in a Spring storm (when will I remember to unplug the modem in a storm) and I couldn't resist writing about it..:) Life was uneventful. I sat, Immersed in work. With the blowtorch of critical analysis And the hammer of reason, I welded, wrestled, wrought Sensible things out of ungainly ideas, Thinking I was achieving something worthwhile. Oh, the folly of vanity... How could I know? How could I tell That outside, dark clouds brooded? In my insulation of deep thought How could atmospheric vibrations Register meaningfully on my eardrum To tell me that Thunder was gnashing his jagged teeth? With one fell swoop it came.. With an explosion to stun the brain, Thunder answered when Lightning provoked. In mid-cogitation, just as Ponder had poised Over a sentence beautifully crafted, To minister the last touch of perfection... A white flash from somewhere Behind the monitor, A sharp crack. Darkness... The light dawned slowly, sluggishly, Load-shedding! No, a storm. What was the white? Bemused Thought trickling, While Reason fought to take control Of paralysed limbs to 'Shut down before The darn Thing shuts up forever!!' Damn the machine! No, the storm! Whatever... But what on earth was the white, and the 'Putt!'? And then agonising in darkness, wondering, wondering, 'What?' Hours, and several deaths later, Brightness!! The lights!!! Yes! Boot the Thing up..trepidation.. God knows the bills to pay.. Ah!!! Glory be! All systems normal, All files intact.. But WHAT on earth was the white??? Anyway, to hell with the white. At least the machine is all right. Rosity news..oh yes..dial up, dial up, dial up.. Dial up, dial up..why doesn't it?? Until it flashed- the modem! No, the modem did not flash, reason flashed About the modem- the modem is dead. My world grew dark... And then I wondered As I sat cut off from the Net, From email and galleries, And aurora borealis pictures.. Yes, I am almost obsessed by them.. And wondered, immersed in deep thought, Until a parable unfolded.. Cut off from the Net..yes, But not from writing and painting, Or breathing or looking, Or feeling the Spring sun on my face, Or talking to my dear wife, or baking a cake, or taking a walk.. Or Really Living. If my life is to be determined By the delusion of escape that the Net offers Like any common narcotic, Then I would be just another fly Caught in the World Wide Web, I would be living...without life. Far better the prick of a thorn In healthy feet that walk without crutches, Than the convenient deadness of leprosy In diseased feet well-shod. Far better a modem-destroying thunderclap To remind me of Life, Than the rubber nipple of the Internet At the age of forty. Selah. ;)