Brainchilds of a lonely coder

What is this strange matrix we live in?
For years now, we sit motionless in our chairs, looking at a small flat reality, manipulating its red lights, and the green, and the blue...
mixing them together, cous we accumulated several tricks among the thousands in this small flat world.
Most of us us those “tricks” to create some minor, insignificant flat “toys” for someone across the world the do not know, but who’s gonna pay their bills for a few weeks.

But I wonder, what are we doing there? And what makes us happy in this set up?
Are we machines for flat toys? And if so, why is that good? Is it?

Again I’m into the labirinth of colored text logics, digging into my set of “tricks”, applying them to get the desired results and eventually learning new ones on the way... pff, I’ve got a hell lots of them already.
Well, I should get rich now - why wouldn’t I? The world is paying well for those flat toys.
But... I must confess... I am not a good machine. There is a hurricane of little logics in my mind, along with those I use for making these flat toys.
I am a man and my nature has placed my ambition elsewhere. And it’s not on my chair, not in a place where I’m a flat toy factory.


Never the less, I force my nature into this everyday with the corteous help of many compensations like coffee, cigarettes and an occasional drunk evening.
“I love what I do” - I tell myself again and again. Sometimes I really believe it. Sometimes I can’t. Then the hurricane comes along.
I am a dreamer, as any man should be, if he wants to create. I value an idea a hundred times more than blind labour.
So, inevitably, I couldn’t like myself doing blind labour. I’d like myself creating ideas instead. However, struck in this matrix of mine, I’ve got a lonely excuse: I will labour my way through, to the moment I am free to create my ideas.

It’s just that...
sometimes I wonder if I would get lost in there.