He jettisoned from the net forever. They killed his Avatar somewhere in the out world of second life when the World of War craft hordes came calling for him to invoke the infocalypse.
When I met him on the train he was almost pwned. The Debian tattoo throbbing beneath his cheek identified him as geek godfather. Those misshapen eyes represented the last of the best cyberpunk warriors operating on the old net. His frazzled appearance on this train could only mean one thing. The countdown to the infocalypse had been triggered.
“We don't have time,” I said to him. He gave me the nano disc as the first spasms rocked his slim frail body. Fear dripped from his eyes as he waited for my antidote. It came in the form of a script I had written on one of those nights when sleep is a mere distraction in the grander scheme of things. It was the most beautiful code I had ever written. It was also the most dangerous.
He copied it quickly into his handheld that magically appeared out of a geek pocket. I tensed when I saw it. Possession of that technology meant that you were either the most wanted black hat or an agent in the highly feared world's cyber division. He looked like neither with his hands trembling over the keyboard as he ran a series of tests on my script.
“This is not a quick fix,” I said. He nodded understanding. “My code will reverse engineer the first part of their Trojan. You will have about ten minutes to puke it all out. Only the spam bots will come out. You will have to hack your own dreams to find the source code and delete it.”
He smiled for the first time revealing the designer teeth of true deep net junkies. There were only a few shops on the planet where you could get these specialized encrypted jobs done. The teeth hooked you straight into the Metaverse on the fastest internet connection not even the richest man on earth could afford. It was all about trust and skill and nothing else.
Another spasm rocked him. I nodded for him to begin the compiling of my code. It would either fry his mind or free him. He hissed when the wifi connection of his teeth jacked into the handheld. There was a moment of suspended digital animation and then he hit enter on the keyboard.
He screamed beyond terrifying. It was the most inhuman sound I have ever heard. It penetrated deeper than I ever wanted life to. It sounded like death itself finally triumphant over the last vestiges of our fragile stubborn existence.
“Damn damn damn man. Shit what the hell is happening to you man?”
He answered with more screams and retching except nothing was coming out.
“Talk to me man, talk to me soldier!”
“They got him good huh?”
“What what the hell? I whirled around. A frail man stood there with the eyes of Einstein.
“You are so right man,” he quipped. “He's got their hell inside for sure.”
“What the hell are you?” What are you talking about?”
“We are their slaves now. We are the tech indentured servants man.”
“Stop talking bullshit man the infocalypse has not started yet. They need his brain.”
“Alright,” he said opening an identical handheld like my screaming friend's own. “Come and see for yourself.”
I saw but still wouldn't believe. My primitive brain refused to even consider what I was seeing on the screen. It was at once beautiful and terrifying. I gasped and shuddered as I witnessed the fateful reprogramming of the human interface.
Everything Simultaneously/Please Remind My Molecules
cellular openings. the fifteenth galaxy refuses to be silent
and then splitting us to flicker teeth, the crystalline horizon as flesh to where it is all imagined
Oil of Concubine/Equation the Skull's Mosque
increasingly, iam an apostle, the sea's stroke of genitalia. it's cracked now, like ghosts, its messiah a blank mind. i still admire your electronics, how they swim so effortlessly through the boulevard of my hair. female rhetorics the formed eye, swung softly, quickly into lofty, cosmic tongues that window alchemy
approached lunacy, the pop of vivid socketry here once, leftover hydra narrowed between slits and history
Iam Only An Hour/Long Semen Below
catechism jazz. we danced moths and the paraphrase, so broken jaws wandering the library's lonely coagulate over rain times wings, hunger, curling days. she purred her arms to me, the way epistemology means a golden calf, trellis enough for two
petals that dial much more than focus mode. siblings to molten the city's mission to Mars. token abdominals, variants assembled in twelve hours or less, Trotsky below fahrenheit's pile of choked meat. my oxymoron extracted velour from her orgasm and prodded earth from her theories, long-forgotten moistures her parted constellation to sift through the swelling
Four Vialled Abstractions
the vague delivers ancient roads to tangent again
red dreadlocks are a serum to me, warm and finally
parallel to holes that light up whenever her pyramids
fractal, two for the price of one
purple harmonies return optically, a money plucked in dissonance, lust from the trees that triangle and scrape her vulva. the jargon is barefoot, dressed in a trace of air. adrenaline not meant to decode, shaken manifestos directed against bones that froth between our fingers. spirals of devotion, and i fly faster into gaping eyelashes, all images received while hiding in time's shared source, glossed bones and nodded contour. gestures data their arrogant signs of neon bleeding sighs and hymns for marrying carbon's other computer in my brain
Crucified Machines Diurnal The Fabric of Geomancy
try to believe effervescence isn't a dinosaur, chides and overhang, as visceral as the meaning of space.
iam already a new literature, a smile seeing some blondes today, oh boy.
glass shards whisper the new paradigm, ecstastic howls that menstruate ancient violins and hue beside her on the bed.
doesn't anyone soak their allure in the platinum of nevermind anymore?
populating banquet halls forever - pupils in the colors affordable - like pills you'd never summit - nerve endings on a dead-end rain disco - where's some time ago - felt that night smoking cigarettes' distribution of loneliness - speed like emotions - no wonder nothing gets done - am i aware of this? - celebrating infinitely - sight runs along - branches that teacup - a million years impassable - shoulders crossing under huge black clouds - springboard of void flowers - street linger lights hint nights uptight once there were snowflakes
she's making out with saint make believe the heart's knobs are tweezered at by strange creatures aflame on the isle of something i cannot name teetering steaming hours offered up a sacrificial thingie
it's what you can't bring that's bothering you float by there are exactly 5 doors surrounding me pendulously palatial airports where we've been intimate swinging nerve censers in the bygone night like dinosaurs
spooked by ultrageist eyes hovering over pool table earth folded its napkin dabbed its lips hightailed it out there is a place there is skin now that we've established now what have we left and it's crazy feeling this way not reacting recurring dreams in her hands like money to score there's a jungle in the drugs to cross provocative there's tumult naming names there's a summit bridge of your nose zero visibility there's a heft we want everything beyond our grasp that's applicable or can save help clear the smoke hazing multi-faceted
that searches itself that has little tiny holes that oozes layers layers that position that tingles that flags the lawn that feels like hell that thing on leash that thing she does that place that thing that clashing that opened the door that closed the door that snuck outside that's all that's that
intellectual abomination swaying across a fine line of interpretation he...her an underlined judgemental pomPISSity I...recorded visions I..attended mass booking READ ME! nonsensical she seems unlike what she should be her body language her vibe her unrealistic he feeds off her a parasite of sorts creative energy slowly sucked away misintrepreted character defect define me impossible I am undefined uneducated and thirsty for criticism worldly intelligence I inhabit I speak to me
thoughts lie nothing makes sense does it? elongated facial expression mimes "don't do it melissa" solitary confinement due to constrictive postmodern predetermined psychological malfunctions sounds spectacular! a neverending mind fuck a boisterous "look at me!" her theatrical performance guides him through the evening blocked heart wheels grasping for awareness rejected by a strong disbelief in order a beautiful anarchy zero tolerance she unscrambles static zing detox the portals between mind and body
trackwacking painted life potholes is a drag worn radio wisdom insulting night visions all holographic green and sinister a face looking in no but really i don't know insinuating an apocalyptic situation tempted to turn the other way petition someone or something swaying triangles that day in the park long ago it was sunny we were high or encrypted or mad pulsing pores catapulted climactic those oval dreams kept awake like dolls demolish the drill bit of pain with pills or proper equipment it was really not down for once with
the cock struck valentine's a ritualistic interference speaking thru body language cut with cyanide hearts damaged perfectly tender pupils dilate with intrigue distracted by cocaine surprise outstanding surge she purged outkast hands interlock 6 + 4 = 9 a rough estimate they walk separate directions to the north to the south to the east to the west windchimes singing in echoes a separation of hide and seek she lives in a polaroid picture a black and white description of lovers gone by
what is day going to be like like water or resolve weather or dry skin skein of sapling outer layer a cinder block in tapestry bloused gray share wool come tumbling humble to the taste shy scapular renown and thunder which one tamed naming half stained with handfuls of wool reply lying steadfast slumber waking this one way toward here again norming to taste buds strains mere glyph shown here now
I rinse to fray old lap o' lay-down jance be lain and quickly peeled from down store flummox dimply little grin tines near the Braille wheel how come frivoly chair posts and the shattered sheets the bickering the quinine H2O of tacit rinse-out at the failing point of curvature (she lilted just away so I could see what she might have been overcast) Byronic chills paid their retractive rent lines coded into water "semicircular intent" is yours to give back upon holiness (His) chamber lore obsequity and such points labaloo to you too eric-head the sleet come maverick ascension into thursday
sun matador smiling a slowmotion bulk slides on names. fish-net communion of female legs. assembly glint. seems good and then greeters any bouquet of what is this? we're past feel like eyes when there are still better ideas. parts. consequences. ringtone's lake of fire. marine palaces.
photo drugs. attractive. sweating thoughts between modern lovers. between scandals. together to together. reverence stumbles over the words to say. you're great. how utterly fine. umbilical.
recalling our voices. moments. hearts with splashes of b&w film. baptismal reactions and tremulous constellations. vivid faces of high altitude ride the coat-tails of light's prelude.
cellular notion. that tripped-out feel. that gone crazy feeling you feel. traipsing through to witness hypnotic garden. stereos blasting and tractor lights inhabit each head. between wires. there are many green here take a peek. faster than the eyes that spiraled fourth of july. unlike the hand. a torch to march. where a card was. a smoking cigarette. juggling hands drunk-dialing.
.2.
act like how seeing her since last is life. always very well on the most childlike shore. once more future. and the heavenly virgin burn comes and inspires. the face of heaven lit zine sounds completely happy to me. that lives. technically divorced. eavesdrop on puts out. rootless nowhere heaves out over abodes.
.3.
youth lay loved in life. with faith and hope. can it be heaves out between separated ways. i was exactly. tough with now an ever-variegated pathless road. i'm sorry to plug active website but yet married. go serious in the middle over my body do i gotta have. to you. and you. own happiness for i guess yeah. good to hear. i mean. i know. i'm serious.
.4.
inebriation. just my saturated mind to forget sleep again. yeah or something. haha. that's submit lovely time doing creative. i was surfing facebook blissful with fears. with anguish. deep. lovelike hear i'm getting back working skeptical like good way. yeah. tough times. been a good example for tribute in words. uttering words ever-increasing. angel-comrade call us all heaven-children like the light. drugging heartache and confusion. supportive and everything. ends up those dreams some hate to do it too. was the far-off undeciphered and vanished. revelations. forever is striding upon endless shore.
.5.
uplifted is the lamps walking alone. how are you. i'm losing my sleep dreams about aliens. melting memory creep. cigarette dangling from them badass bunch of literary you dropped in. in crystal. mysterious embrace. presence. words inexhaustible. like blah to this beloved world. then came drank midnight souls racing hearts by true love songs.
becoming more plastic. being. binging on. bringing on. suspect choices. pacts. parts. petty thieveries. arteries. devices to become more tragic. digesting each attractive. raining. midwestern trucks under it. purging residual materials that eyes've collected like kleptomaniacs. in the backwards they were rolling her out. they were rolling out my tongue a matador. smiling. slowmotion notions stung by rainyday bees under the great big sweating bulk of every everything. fixing to. highways.
radio. moonlit abbreviations. sinking spell. potions. rapturous unknowing. playing pool below decide. what focus. maybe a better idea. reorganize the thoughts in dixie cup. the sun above. really. on film. glint of i want. a ton. this weekend. can't let you. the pits. i don't think. drop curtains. the high altitude radio. drugs melt off any spots in the eyes. clouds that knock together like scrawny knees. genuflect. oblivious arms around bouquet of oil spill. vinyl evenings. elaborate constellations.
Monday mourning the weekend enameled to the bedsheets of Sunday afternoon, he be Gee-be great in bed even during the middle ages tho not so much of that mattering anymore. The Director and her Seven Innuendoes, that she may have designed Microsoftt's Internet Explorer even if No she didn't invent the internet. Well of course, why didn't they think of that thot both her two clerks or two techs, after all she "built this network" on lock-and-load, so why not the holes in IT, i.e., they laugh. They would have claimed Firefox, not the most hacked and shlenktit browser on the planet, Claire. Halliburton and Blackwater, Vodka and Agent Orange, take your Quick Pick Ticket to the Wegman's store and trade it for three groceries there, one the red pepper for $2.43, only a nickle when you were just 5 to 10 and sold them to the neighbors straight out of your good father's garden. This the Standard of Living, That the Canard of a Pay Raise, piggy-backed on a study of Larceny from elementary school and up or down, was UP with that, Drake? Down with that, are ya's, Morales? You'll bring in your own coffee, didn't the mafia own the vending machines here in Rochester, or was that 1972 you were so proud of your Italian heritage at age 11 the year before Cognition at 12 and the collective dissonances become all the rage then later in adolescence not so obviously becoming. This is to say, Not to mention the pubic hair you've all been waiting for. Still, nobody says, "Nice concept, Poor design" anymore, and it falls flat but for the form phat and sassy, Sis. One more stare at the ceiling oughta do it. So the Big native american says to the Little native american, "you're lucky you've got a wife and she's lucky she's got one, too." But the Scotch got taped and the soda clouded. Thanks Warren Broach and Machine Corp. for the calendar, this March it's Ocho Rios, Jamaica, and the closest anybody gets to Tropical life around here. "We can dream," shouted one self to the other. "We can even day dream. We just can't execute, all bound up in those morals and ethics the lower middle and lower-lower middle classes get from the prez and the rest of the ridiculously rich, maybe 'cause they've got the stuff in surplus, maybe because they own so much that they can't even give it away, maybe because it's just, as they say, God's little secret." If you were less self-conscious than you were conscious of their selves' bloody consciences, there'd be some kind of hell to pay. The piper, the candlestick maker, the ticket hawkers at old Candlestick and new 3-M, they make tape, too, they sniff glues, they follow clues, they take their cues. The gov'nor gots his twats, his prostitutes, and he's Dem, too, and then he's destitute, no, he's not, but you can't use "twats" here, can you? Kate Mallet carrying a Big Sickle. You gots the trots, now, doncha know, a Miller phrase from the day, his, that is. Lookey-hear, there's the shlmiel: you love others your way, or not, and I love others, you too, my several ways. Deal? H. Miller apologized to her later on, and we'll never know if she showed any real understanding or compassion in return, will we? We will know this -- thousands of humble writers live their lives giving real care to others and we never know that from their writing, about which we always have the last words, don't we, Reader?
Monday mourning the weekend enameled to the bedsheets of Sunday afternoon, he be Gee-be great in bed even during the middle ages tho not so much of that good old matter anymore. The Director and her Seven Innuendoes, that she may have designed Microsoft's Internet Explorer even if No she didn't invent the internet, either. Well of course, why didn't they think of that thot both her two clerks or two techs, for after all she "built this network" on lock-and-load, so why not the holes in IT, i.e., they laugh. They would have claimed Firefox, not the most "hacked and shlenktit" browser on the planet, Claire.
Halliburton and Blackwater, Vodka and Agent Orange, take your Quick Pick Ticket to the Wegman's Store and trade it for three groceries there, one the red pepper for $2.43, JUST a nickle when you were just five-to-ten and sold them to the neighbors straight out of father's garden. This the Standard of Living, That the Canard of a Pay Raise, piggy-backed on a study of Larceny from elementary school and up or down, was UP with that, Drake? Down with that, are ya's, Mr. Morales?
You'll bring in your own coffee, didn't the mafia own the vending machines here in Rochester, or was that 1972 you were so proud of your Italian heritage at age 11 the year before Cognition at 12 and the collective dissonances become all the rage then later in adolescence not so obviously becoming. This is to say, Not to mention the pubic hair you've all been waiting for. Still, nobody says, "Nice concept, Poor design" anymore, and it falls flat but for the form phat and sassy, Sis. One more stare at the ceiling oughta do it.
So the Big Native Bmerican says to the little native american, "you're lucky you've got a wife and she's lucky she's got one, too." But the Scotch got taped and the soda clouded. Thanks Warren Broach and Machine Corp for the calendar, this March it's Ocho Rios, Jamaica, and the closest anybody gets to Tropical beach life around here. "We can dream," shouted one self to the other. "We can even day dream. We just can't execute, all bound up in those morals and ethics the lower middle and lower-lower middle classes get from the prez and the rest of the ridiculously rich, maybe 'cause they've got the stuff in surplus, maybe because they own so much that they can't even give it away, maybe because it's just, as they say, God's little secret."
If you were less self-conscious than you were conscious of their selves' bloody consciences, there'd be some kind of hay to pell-mell. The piper, the candlestick maker, the ticket hawkers at old Candlestick and new 3-M, they make tape, too, they sniff glues, they follow clues, they takes their cues.
The gov'nor gots his twats, his prostitutes, and he's Dem, too, and then he's destitute, no, he's not, but you can't use "twats" here, can you? Kate Mallet carrying a Big Sickle. You gots the trots, now, doncha know. Lookey-hear, there's the shlmiel: you love others your way, or not, and I love others, you too, my several ways. Deal? H. Miller apologized to her later on, and we'll never know if she showed any real understanding or compassion in return, will we?
We will know this -- thousands of humble writers live their lives giving real care to others and we never know that from their writing, about which we always have the last words, don't we, Reader?
Monday mourning the weekend enameled to the bedsheets of Sunday afternoon, he be Gee-be great in bed even during the middle ages tho not so much of that matter anymore. The Director and her Seven Innuendoes, that she may have designed Microsoftt's Internet Explorer even if No she didn't invent the internet. Well of course, why didn't they think of that thot both her two clerks or two techs, after all she "built this network" on lock-and-load, so why not the holes in IT, i.e., they laugh. They would have claimed Firefox, not the most hacked and shlenktit browser on the planet, Claire. Halliburton and Blackwater, Vodka and Agent Orange, take your Quick Pick Ticket to the Wegman's store and trade it for three groceries there, one the red pepper for $2.43, only a nickle when you were just 5 to 10 and sold them to the neighbors straight out of yer good father's garden. This the Standard of Living, That the Canard of a Pay Raise, piggy-backed on a study of Larceny from elementary school and up or down, was UP with that, Drake? Down with that, are ya's, Morales? You'll bring in your own coffee, didn't the mafia own the vending machines here in Rochester, or was that 1972 you were so proud of your Italian heritage at age 11 the year before Cognition at 12 and the collective dissonance become all the rage then later in adolescence not so obviously becoming. This is to say, Not to mention the pubic hair you've all been waiting for. Still, nobody says, "Nice concept, Poor design" anymore, and it falls flat but for the form phat and sassy, Sis. One more stare at the ceiling oughta do it. So the Big native american says to the Little native american, "you're lucky you've got a wife and she's lucky she's got one, too." But the Scotch got taped and the soda clouded. Thanks Warren Broach and Machine Corp. for the calendar, this March it's Ocho Rios, Jamaica, and the closest anybody gets to Tropical life around here. "We can dream," shouted one self to the other. "We can even day dream. We just can't execute, all bound up in those morals and ethics the lower middle and lower-lower middle classes get from the prez and the rest of the ridiculously rich, maybe 'cause they've got the stuff in surplus, maybe because they own so much that they can't even give it away, maybe because it's just, as they say, God's little secret." If you were less self-conscious than you were conscious of their selves' bloody consciences, there'd be some kind of hell to pay. The piper, the candlestick maker, the ticket hawkers at old Candlestick and new 3-M, they make tape, too, they sniff glues, they follow clues, they take their cues. The gov'nor gots his twats, his prostitutes, and he's Dem, too, and then he's destitute, no, he's not, but you can't use "twats" here, can you? Kate Mallet carrying a Big Sickle. You gots the trots, now, doncha know, a Miller phrase from the day, his, that is. Lookey-hear, there's the shlmiel: you love others your way, or not, and I love others, you too, my several ways. Deal? H. Miller apologized to her later on, and we'll never know if she showed any real understanding or compassion in return, will we? We will know this -- thousands of humble writers live their lives giving real care to others and we never know that from their writing, about which we always have the last words, don't we, Reader?
Thank you so much for commenting on this one. Can't tell you how nice and wonderful it is to see something read and complimented.
Sorry that I didn't notice your comment before today (4-25-08), but I'm so friggin busy and so friggin scattered some weeks/months that I forget that I posted things and that I should have been checking back in to see if anybody responded.
(Hey, I am getting closer to starting _Black Spring_, the journal, not the blog, again. Been a very long hiatus following some, ummm, financial difficulties (had to declare Bankruptcy two years ago) and other personal life endeavors (got married, too). And I may only be able to do the journal "online," but do please know that I'll want to include yer good poming when I get things going again, and forgive me if I inconvenienced you, and others, by holding other poems so long from 3 years ago, when I dropped the ball(s).
coursing up temples like a band of hooligans. heard it on the radio. on the radio. moonlit abbreviations. sinking swingers in the lake of pines.
bird's eye. i seen your memory on the floor. like a propeller. like sacrifice. truth is spelled out. potions.
i walk at an angle. we're cast in life to reeling in feel. precautious or persuasive. you tell me. what is cost-effective. stranger. relics of. the drugs melt off any disturbed just passing through.
everything resembles a star a star - peel back the layers - hiccups in space - navels of graceful crucifixions - slender the night that chose - graffitti in manic and streetlights like parties way up high - she's crossed her legs underneath the table - a railroad crossing - handlebars on the way home - a sobering reminder -boulders with windows pasted on - rain in the small town small cloud small - her teeth so white pixellated - pasties like bug eyes - puff of cigarette smoke then the wave - push back the curtain hurry - a straw in each nostril shoots the shapes straight up my brain like a mirror-faceted pineapple
I quietly and unremarkably love you, I practice being where I am if I invent you I already learn a way to recollect the huge moments of happiness, the minor tree branch, the live wings changing how our lawn poses status of collective noun imposed thus from without so various coordinating conjunctions are not equal to the task the task is being knowing valuing while this is here, so this embedded presence defines present tense as real and as legitimate with and without each one of us.
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