User:Tapsell

This is the present. Not the future, not the past; the present. Why is that so surprising to us all? We constantly strive to become something new; fresh; ahead of its time; but we have neglected our present. Right now we think of tommorow. We plan our lives as they stretch before us as though blank pages in a book. The time has come to get back on track and focus solely on our present moments. On the repitition of life. On the mechanics of existing.

TAPSELL is about the user. The undisciplined man. He sits at his aunties computer day and night waiting for something to happen. Some kind of enlightenment moment where all is revealed to be as he assumed, but not actually realising exactly what he assumes. He is attempting to write a book. He doesn't know where to begin, but he, he knows what he wants it to be about. It has to be about information, about its potential. It's importance.


 * There is no autobiography for this man. It does exist; only elsewhere, away from this reality.
 * His age, his cellular body do not matter. Matter does not seem to matter here.
 * With just music and the magic of code he brings his opinion to the world, and only the world shall judge him.