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by Don Schaeffer
Winnipeg Manitoba
Canada
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DIGITAL GHOSTS: Introduction
A few years ago I made the discovery that the land over the rainbow, the land of enchantment was real. It exists in an amalgam of shared minds, connected by waves in the ether passing through the sky. It is, in effect, a juxapositon of souls. When I can touch the souls my mind makes the images of bodies and creates models of complete people shaped by shadows passed through space in coded ether waves. It is the land of chat.
In the land of chat, occupants generate reality by sharing models of each other and sharing the knowledge of events and things only seen by mutually confirming and agreeing on their existence (exactly as most things become real in the physical world--which is in fact only partially physical).
In the beautiful land of chat, wishes come true and with the cooperation of reality generators throughout the world. I discovered, I can approximate or simulate the living out of my wierdest, most perverse, deepest, and most profoundly affecting fantasies.
So I am a digital ghost. I have converted. A percentage of me has retreated completely from the world of physical things and invested in a dark world of words and shared souls.
That's what some of these poems are about. Humanity means something very novel, never before seen in history, when souls meet from anywhere, ignoring time and distance, to generate mutual realities which satisfy urges that reality cannot.
Charlotte
from 'DIGITAL GHOSTS'
by Don Schaeffer
She doesn't look like
her photograph: the same sadness,
but missing the imprisoned signalling,
small gestures of window waving
like a little girl locked in her room.
Here in the flesh she seems
not brave enough,
sunk, absent, soft lace and worn calico
replaced with khaki and denim.
How do people get so stuck in dutiful detail?
Where do their minutes go
spent without mischief or magic?
Is it low calorie un-nutritious love,
group hugs and suspicion, shivering in the cold?
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Diane Recapitulated
from 'DIGITAL GHOSTS'
by Don Schaeffer
So heavy
when she lifts herself
from the electric
legs into a flesh and blood chair.
"This damn corpus," came
into my mind from hers. But then
her face opened at the corners of her broad mouth,
like a deep Irish red-head.
And she could dance
memories of Diane
next door in our Pennsylvania days,
before we found paradise.
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