her hundred-thousand-year solo session

autoisekai

> ここにいます. here i am.
> come and get me, you fucking metaphysical dogs.

       dancing.|the activist veil
spinning in mediterranean breeze
       entropized//oedipalized
       untilthecellwallsbreakdown
       untiltheendoplasm/
       splattering.

       drops;
       patterns of lymph
       weaved into the moody child’s skin

> this is it, kid.
> this is life.

> you’re governed by unloved mmorpg servers.
> keeping the company of shopkeepers whose glasses glitch into command lines.

malfunctioning automata and the expression of love

they found her mid-reflexive psychic warfare. strangling mirrors
on the orders of the lieutenant in the head.
/punch.
/punch.
/kiss.

they found her following the trails of classes never attended and connections
never made. pink invoices slid under doors hiding secrets the hardwood
believed were too heavy to disclose.

/badges dragging the eviscerated subject from the “damn bitch you live like
this” apartment out; out to deserts in parking lots paved over the graves of
millions; maybe to be shot. maybe to be realigned. she looped the same
pathetic pleas written in esoteric coding languages known only to schizoid
gen x nerds working for the department of defense.

             [WHEN/;desert], she said.
             [ACT/;run./steal uhaul./migrate across invisible
             lines on maps of diseased territory./ego death./
             social death./]
             [WHEN/;undeveloped social neurocapacities], she said.
             [ACT/;stare./stare at scrambled cupertino-based numbers
             stations./stare./stare./stare at girl in mirror who keeps
             staring at you./stare./stare until social death corrupts
             and becomes physical.]

her eyes were looking at divinity.
divinity asked her to subscribe to the premium plan.

vestal virgins of the eternal closed circuit

[blink] server bank altars spin around the precocious teenaged systems technician, peering at blinking diodes with eyes glazed over by arcane cocktails of caffeine, amphetamine, data mines decrepit, thick layers of dust over these ancient algorithms smiling at you, [blink] a twenty-first birthday passes and clipboard girl is here, sealed in this nuclear apocalypse bunker she knows she can’t get out of alive, staring; staring at nothing, nothing except the curves and bends of usb cables under panes of glass; crystallized electronic rivers flowing to lively seas of lives she cannot live, and here is the adsense algorithm smiling at you, [blink] she’s been humming to herself for years now, maybe a decade, harmonizing with her autistic brain’s conception of an electric buzz coursing through the cracking cement that may/may not be there, dust covering the monolith of Engagement™ that she is just one in a long line of thousands of generations of girls like her devoted to tending, [blink] gray hairs shedding from her scalp, body curled in a fetal position, yellowed teeth chattering out strings of programming languages comprehensible only to herself and Her, The Machine, the nerves and wires in coital unison, dust bunnies exploding in air, [blink] and here the woman is, dying, crawling on the floor among the dancing scribbles of Her if she were a woman, Her-chan marching in locksteps with the mad scribbles of an electronic corpse, wrapping onto the glass and around her body, and as she gasps her last, raspy breath, air rushing through the gates of her trachea before they close now and forever, she stares into the diodes and finds the first and last connection of her barren cybernetic life, and she [blinks].

and the algorithm smiles;
she smiles all the same;
across generations of worthless humans;
funneling Joy™ to these faceless statistics.

       if only the technician checked the next aisle over.
she would have found another dying, lonely girl
just like her.

they’re measuring out duct tape gags for us

       packet-switched polaroid photos of freaks on balconies;
smiling faces manifesting fin de siècle queers./the conversations./the laughing./the majesty of Being;it’s right there;right there, you fucking idiot;they’re laughing at you./these fleeting glimpses of Itself;offered by the enlightened life;the possibility hanging in front of you./Arms length;always;arms length;any closer would be so tiresome;tiresome;tiresome as always, aren’t you?

they don’t wait for
you and me.

       memories of social lives aborted and festering./composted
fulfillment;cycled and recycled in your head;cycle;recycle;recycling the thumps inside the walls;recycled memoryholes you can almost climb into and suffocate in;almost but not quite;suffocation would be too merciful for recycled mediocrity;cycling./cycling./cycling at nothing./cycling nothing./cycling./cycling./cycling./[THUMP]cycling./cy[THUMP]cling./ c[THUMP][THUMP]cl[THUMP]ling[THUMP][THUMP]
[THUMP]./

they’re cycling for
you and me.

[THUMP] inside walls;eyes not seeing/seeing nothing in particular;ghosts of potential lives rising from their graves.gently mocking us;they’re laughing at you;conversational arguments that could be joyous/could be furious;pieces of Ego-Ideals littering the floor and fusing with the shards of glass from hammered-out alarm clocks under the blowback from my aural war;burning vocal cords;parents never talked to;friends never made;they’re laughing at you, you fucking idiot;skills never developed;
       deserts;DESERTS;
       whereitneverrained.
       wherewaterneverfell;
never;never;
nevernevernevernevernevernevernevenevernever;
nEVERNEeverNeVERNEVEReverNEVERrevereverNeVERnEVER;

these all lie there;waiting;
known torments for
you and me.

tornAHAHAAHAHAHAHAAHAAAAAAHHAHAHAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHA AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAapartAHAHAAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHA byLELAHAHAHAHALOLHAHAHAHAAHAHKEKAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHEHEHEAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHALMAOLMAAHAHAAHAHAHtheAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHEHEHEAHAHAHAHAHAHHA AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHlaughingLOLAHAHAHAAHHAHALMAOHAHAHAHAHAHAKEKAHAHAHAHAHAH HEEEHEAHAHAHAHAHLOLAHAHAHAHpacketsLMAOLAMAOAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHALELKEKAHAHAHAHAH AHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHLMAOAAHAHAatyou./LMAOHAHAHAAHAHAHintheair./AHAHHAHAHAHAH

365 thousand planetary revolutions

the cave art./returning to dust/and ran over by french spelunking parties
ignorant of the divinities
shriveled to dust around them;
           these demystified natures fading.

fading into the background radiation the Earth weighs on.

the cave art./transient and brittle
and someday these iridescent Disney eyes on radiant youthful assemblages
of shape and line and the nuts and bolts of Image
           will fade too;
           and then;
           only then;
will an tweaked-out future hominid stumble on the imouto‘s neckerchief.

the poor bastard will assume he found God.