she felt something inside her like an uncovered well, and in the presence of others you joked about it or threw it away, or were sarcastic. but underneath all of that, glowing in the reflection of quiet underwater diamonds, its sleeping peacefully like an infinitely precious baby. 

Justas in a pond of blue or red or white lotuses, some lotuses mightbe bom in the water, grow up in the water, and survive while submerged in the water, without rising up from the water; some lotuses might bebom in the water and grow up in the water, but would rise upfrom the water and stand, unwetted by it; sotoo, surveying the world … One saw beings with little dust in their eyes and with much dustin their eyes,  with keen faculties and with dull faculties… and a few who dwelt seeing blame and fear in the otherworld.

—Majjhima Nikāya

Infancy conforms to no one.

—Jack Kerouac          




In the HMDs, the participants viewed their real body (from the third-person perspective [3PP]) lying in the scanner and the stranger’s body 

(from the 1PP) being touched by a white spherical object, while receiving synchronous (illusion condition) or asynchronous (control) tactile stimulation. 

Key: HMD: Head mounted display, 1PP: first person perspective

Chapter 1

John D Portheim of the Antioch Police Department, Wisconin-Illinois Detectives Unit, untied his shoes on annie’s bed and lay down. Anderson kicked something heavy: a black journal lay where she used to sit and write in it.

“Lookadis.” It opened, and he laid on his partner’s shoulder.


04/24/2014 ook next to a mossy fence) the diamond gets covered and corrupted with new consciousness. eventually it blows inand up and swims like a whale all around the nebulous huniverse of our braincells. the big conscious-ness, the same patterns over and inside each other. the edges of the universe are a TV that show your actions, and you only see a limitless continuaty of eachother in life, screens as well as repetition of your own image blending thru time… in the networks of streets exude consciousness - presence are 

“IVE SEEN FOOTAGE: the numerous reflections built up through layer after layer of endless sight and use of the senses become redundant. travel far enough and see nothing but light, go blind… either truth has no bounds or truth is the bounds themselves, expaanding as it becomes itself in perpetuation of those reflexive qualities that allow consciousness to exist… every now and then we pass through a pinhole thats usually called death. we are compressed, our language is remade, the substance of our lives is compressed into a shimmering shining single form, all memories contained; reflecting on all sides and surfaces the raw holiness of the universe, apart of   untouched by anything, not seen by anyone (crouching in a culvert by  traintrack of her highschool, bent over in a winter coat her notebookconsciousness. timelapses of people walking is consciousness, lamposts are neurons firing, streets are dendrites, cars are electric potentials to the world (the pple in them existing), crossing synaptic breaks. are in liquid aether shining our souls’ surface together in vast gleeful loneliness. the words still make (ultimately and intensively: logos, advertisements—someone hammering a wedge of brand nonsense into my unconscious self because they want head to crack hemorrhage the money out of it— we can pick up thoughts sometimes slip into sentences, but they are made of, what I’m asking because logos don’t speak, they don’t fit in) the nonsense in we see symbolism language and images pointed towards me,  (ultimately and intently asking for my money $$$$$$) but what I’m talking about is that symbols relate to me,  pander to me along with everyone else in a mall, in front of TV, or on computer, in the town, see storefronts, labels, recognize brands, doors with symbol pathway —logos, advertisements)                    the root, sentence combinations and logical and grammatically correct you’re confused by what the word you 

started maintaining this) are susceptible to the influx of words, and of sentences in subconscious mind, my limbic brain, somatosensory cortex, fuseiform face area (ALL FACES ARE HUMAN AND SINCERE), amygdala, dorsolateral prefrontal cortex, hippocampus, striatum, midbrain, affective response, draws its potency, (and seeing yourself somatoform: it being all nonsense after all, like vomiting up these ingrained symbols—  )(logos, advertisements—) you lose contextualization within a sphere of known sentences

 you enter like where you’re holding a knotted rope in the

dark and pulling yourself along, and… 

I am become the big ego die big ego die. the sooner the better…“ 


John looked up bewildered.

[when this reaches mid-screen, fade in the sounds of a pond and ducks: start]

John D. Portheim and

Anderson (Dan) L. Wallace: Detectives of Antioch, WI and/or Chicagoland IL

investigating the disappearance of a certain young girl last seen nuzzling 14 animals in her room but a tab of acid made her recede into the walls where people have been looking since and dusting for prints but the acrid of the windows had no witness n divulged nothing to the smoking dicks who

at once lined their eye holes for secret clues like smudging the mud across their eyes so in the dust of the basement looked around the litter and the rat cages for something of use: 

wisconsin skies then at that point shifting over into fall and accompanying fall smells littering the earth with suspicion & potsmoke wavering in the kitchen; ski poles pinned to the sheetrock.

treetops buzzing hum-hawing with potency of air frosted and denoted in its thickness, one officer wrote down in a notepad. Click—

“the horror of the TV was witnessed here there’s no doubt. just checked for dusts that would corroborate: static dusts,  (from the books) and the like and took samples from the corroded windowsills filled with bugs. She was blonde

the sky swings like a pendulum, you look up and get dizzy, cameras flash, you almost fall over. we lined our pockets with secret dusts you weren’t supposed to know about this. she needs help.  

will you help the detectives? is it in you to do so? 

the wisconsonite neighbors pushed their mowers,

the yard had sticks in it like door county but this is antioch at the end of the kenosha line.

spinning in the negatives a granulated dust (on the receiver) distorting the intimation of a voice— right now 

not her voice intoning or suggesting behind the walls the way a memory does in an old house? 

“could she possibly” wipes eyes in the beam of an afternoon expressed through the window

“is it possible that she went to one of those glass islands in the sink? i mean, she could have done that.” 

“yeah she could have done that” wallace says as he cuts the telephone cord. “I still think she probably just broke her outline somewhere near the couch.”

 “what did she watch on tV”

“fucking null shit as far as i could tell.” he smacks his tongue and stabs a notepad.

They left the house and walked holding hands along the lakefront, smoking alternately. 

 “you should have seen her father.”


“her father was literally 10,000 pounds”

“no shit.”

“believe it brudda. do i ever bullshit you? he weighed no less than 10,000 pounds.”

“hooooleeeey shit.”

“cuddent move him if you tried.”

“you think she tried?”

the detectives were eating ice cream at the lakefront, enjoying the afternoon with their tight easy smiles and loose coats, fishing in all their pockets with black gloves. occasionally Portheim would lean over and administer a little kiss on dan’s nose. they dipped their fingers in their coffee when they dipped their donuts, they flicked the liquid on the grass. He took out a sketchbook. there was a picture of a living room, a staircase with a couch next to it, a small window, a framed picture, a lamp and a desk. 

“sunken grey eyes. beautiful green eyes.”

“she had her mother’s eyes.”

“her father rode a harley!” he revved with his fingersand bobbed his butt on the grass “bubbbubububububub rrrrrrrruuuubbubububuubb!!” wallace doubles over laughing, he spills his ice cream cone and slaps himself in the chest 

“cuh-cuh-c-could you imagine a fatass like that riding a h-h-h-h-harley?! —baaaahhahahha!” they slap eachothers knees and rub eachotehrs theighs in the cold breeze thru corduroy pants while kids play soccer far off. portheim rubs wallace’ eyelids so gently, wiping away cold tears. children kick the ball and the daytime moon is half-full in the sky. “He wouldn’t let her out of the house… hed. well he might have hit her too.”

Wallace’ face becomes austere. theydidnt know that she unfolded the walls and slipped into thm, enjoined the architecture of the house. she saw the dead bugs in the insulation and survived off them. “October 27th 1994. there was something terrible  on TV that night.  He did. 

“you’re right i remember.” 

back at the house where the TV was left on Portheim and Wallace scanned for dust on the floor. recent deposits had stratified over the old ones. they could she what she was watching when she disappeared. probably MASH or gilligan’s island. 

[sounds end]


I was a good movie was like this a whole lot game new things but that I would have made to been more like successful and more important stuff things like to this app is just as a like to it because I of it just have that it was a not very really that it you like that it I think that it was just a matter that it would not have be your idea that there it you are not just a good artist and I a very good cool app and a very good game and but I love that game it you get it to work you and I know what that means but I can tell if you want a game like it or you have it to be get type it of your own stuff but and you can do it all for your self own game and you I it just is to be an adult online app which makes you it just to that a lot 

She sat up straight and convulsed in an uncontrollable and terrible orgasm, her eyes faroff seeing somethin— on the couch under the pierced dust of the projector reeling movies at midnight. the bulb would  beam to the wall, emanating a blue beam falling always in reiteration colors. rectangle in a path made in 3d by flying dust. her life condenses to an aperture the moment she sits selfcontained in a room breafving loudly and fogging wet plaster walls, in the basement, thumbing along the wall in a room with walls like a horizon— did she disappear? her father was summoning her to his grand maelstrom of spilt beer and pancakes w a red string running down the stairs from his bedroom that sets off a buzzing light. she stashes her pot and sprays herself, and drops her eyes and ascends the thick nervous soup of house air and she’d come in to find him staring at her, daring her to look and get the pale light of her face snuffed out. you fucking fascist, you fucking fascist. 

“…I’m not trying to be the bad guy here buttt… you have to stay inside this month baby. Before you get mad— I’ll get you something…” 

In her basement room, there were three screens. A PHONE, A COMPUTER, A TELEVISION

she fills her heart with animals she invites into the house, (hairless rats, roaches, newts, frogs, cats, a stingray, fishies, hamsters, painted turtles, millipedes, dogs, big dog, pink xlotl w frock collar (the 1 that shes most like), dart frogs, other rats, / so on (and shed find a place for them to live after))— discusses with them the gloss systemic surface-sheen of product packaging, and how people package themselves in clothes to be bought too, and who file together to fill screens top-to-bottom with liquid of petrifaction— tht mamagrampreserved body facepainted and shown Implications in hi def glass, or magazine pulp that made them shiny on the faces and the noise so loud filled with some kind of secret enveloping symbol (right behind glass) would induce visions of perfection to whoever saw it in a hypnotic-way but contained behind the screen you understand because the perfection there bespoke only imperfection, and that Facelessness Generation was mass production: uniform face. (OH NO BREAK IT!) my fucking parents are coming to put a name on me, and i’m ust waiting for the instant when i can put a rock thru the center of that and.. 

… break the— smash th face thats so pretty and awful. us against the uniform face-generation algorithm and keep our features fake symmetrical (because cops love to save blonde girls and fuck them— princesses of the invented-white center of america..wher the bulb pops and the people say ‘ahhh!’)— systematically & automatically update them to the latest commands via (copyright criminal, im loooooooking in silverblue dress of pure noise, purple in the family room, wrapped on and stuck in me, (a suffocating bodywrap of all the purpleblue light that flashes off ur white walls seen tfro the windo) running up like into my mouth nd cunt) the newest PHone profitable items in the store. i couldnt face the thing alone but the people i knew i couldn’t talk to anymore. they were just fictions selfinvented or ad-induced. “it doesnt matter if they exist because their fiction does, and um their agents do… and… and anyways i said i wanted to… or maybe just be like… be faithful in ourselves in our own world and then it will pervade everyone right?… You saw before i looked in the mirror my face changed shape….and, ummmm. She was curled up in front of her ratcage; “NO, I HAVE VISIONS!! …”  


[when this line reaches midscreen, fade in the sounds of a modern train]

she was still there stuck ina monster childhood tooling on computer; “Your inbox is full.” on Social posting images, plotting thru the sidestreets in the snow and pass shoveling man on the sidewalks over to the library and am under golden lights, frozen bridges, darkened storefronts and rooves covered in twinkling. from work plodding my feet look at tall branches see my breaf and put rocks in my pocket. iliik at airblaens bumbielimng into the ends of twigs that twiddel and shake (buming in green waterdrops hit eachother) frm last circle drop whit reflected all th big winneka house— mybe she was weighted down in her own image, reproducing the idiocy of my story all the time. and the more time she spent sitting around watching TV, the more her story sounded like everybody’s. so no more, no more.  

— so she bolts town for half-a-day at first, and then a two days, and then a few days, running to the train, drops acid, impatiently in the thickets of bushes beside the tracks, lying under the dock on the sand watching her chest rise and her fingers move somnambulantlywer id once finger self— and leaves on longer trips, and eventually rescinding altogether from her half-of a half-of a house. (to get far away from antioch). she rides the train and she is going in the spooled-out reality like the loop rattly winding out the windows, and potential meaning trapped forever on a fixed planar existence coasting around in circles because (ahm cant go home and can’t go anywhere else…..) she was a prop in her movie, and locked in a wheel of decision-making whose continual motion is the only truth so long as im in it. sprinting to get on the platform, board the train and sit nervously, wherevvr im going 2… glancing eyelids peeled back and touching every possible surface breathlessly reconfiguring textures; contextualizing within the best possible version of the train ride’s a-causal iterations, to blow-up in the moment and capture myself truly as an actual true latent prop in this scene, metastasize into the airy projection-surface,  (burning a hole in the screen) to “experience it”, on its terms, without being dragged down by the totally average conceit that trains are made for arriving… nd she’d stayed on w wide-eye creeps because she’s feeling shes spinning over and over and knows that she is really digging this train, somehow edified by it, or somethng—some infinite selfsimilar timeline in frontof a pinhole sun— but everybody’ face gets more indistinct and she worries that changes in their expressions mite creep into the background; find some agency puts movies that direct their skin…

she dismounts the train to chicago and walks around looking at blue powder taxi cabs under the L-train squares of lite runn thru blac metal and cars ey shone on hoods, in the uand she can’t help feeling every time the CIRCUITSCOMPLET/NP_COmplete, which she’s complicit in. must b. if i’m here rite? sparkling and awed by this, she reboards, running the yellow cardboard back through the turnstile maybe a million times backwards. i can’t find the motivation or evidence sufficient to get me off this train because shefeels obliged to complete another cycle through, necessitated by the end of the last loop; loops wind down ordinately to smaller rotations of infinite causal iteratioins like gears of the sun and moon and tides but thrown a wrench in it bcuz those are natural bodies, and i’m riding in an artificial body.. . her fingers are like baking dough and her books’ words are swarming like upset ants who lost direction and their chemical sense, the the floor is reshaping— sweating.

she is not socially nervous but she is nervous in her character. everything is really too rapid-quick changing for her to process because all these background activities of her mind are in fast forward every time she recognizes them they get denoted as part of a formula slightly quickened and improved on each successive passthrough so the whole thing starts spinning concentrically quicker, inputting the outputs, drawing in to its center.. drawn into the spin getting heavier heated up and terrified too of reaching her center… she racks her mind to set it right, but hours ago lost her voice in the telephone; she puts it down, sweating. or maybe a minute ago. breath feels like chlorine— the trains stopped and getting out is like being born. she could see the familiar weedgrown signs outside and cracked-paint woodbenches under awnings of metal and graffiti’d opaque windows and numbers for hookers and pictures of models holding expensive water bottles, that shed always been coming here quite obviously and that the opposites ends of the universe had paralleled out and converged revealing the total balanced picture hidden in the possibilities of the middle of will which were NEVER REALLY POSSIBLE BECAUSE…



 outside her house with pens and pads, and dan is smoking cornerlip. [modern train sounds end]

“last known place of residence?”


“last seen?”

“computer science class at the Y. or” he squints, “information theory. something.”

“any boyfriend?”

“off working for the far-est service ithink”

“oh?… hey c’mere and give me a kiss” they give one that pops over the lagoon; trees manipulated into  movment, them fingering up twisty in the gray void. wallace tucks his arms closer, puffing his coat, “mmmmmmmmTake a loooooooooode off annnay!”

“take a looooooade fuh freeeeee!”

“what a sweet girl.”

tenderly kiss and then hooked their arms to drink their coffee. old women passed in disgust. Wallace decides to light up a joint— they puff, and by degrees begin to watch the glimmerlight strike the leaves: Annie used to smoke in this spot and feel good for a seemingly impossibly short duration, before getting wrapped up in bigger, weirder problems she couldn’t shake off and which adhered to her every surface— for which she’d use the terminology of the problems to explain the problems and make them even worse and more engrossing, and surf on in vague discurisve terminology in interior dialogue that only made sense to her aesthetically and made her want to cry like she were talking with strangers hoping they would like her. in her head they didnt speak a language she understood, and it didn’t feel like speaking. you know me? Dan held close to john’s shoulder.

“youre not gonna be out again are you?” miimed metic

“don’t be such a wuss.”

“—because last time we smoked you get off on tangential things and take your shirt off and talk until morning.”

“fussy duddy”

“whatever!” dan juts his lip and retracts his arms and sees a helicopter pod membrane twirling, its veins stickout in microcosm of curves and pattern, john feels warm on his face, prickling his cheeks on the cold day, in a weird way, he watched the trees swish and hum…. 

“why another girl? think it was suicide?”

“we cannot” he props up on an elbow and produces a stern face 

“uh, we cannot corroborate with evidence at this time, uh. if indeed the events that transpired at the uhh, mellonkamp residence were in fact a hom-i-cide, suey-side, or, uh, and so if you will just refrain from further questions or statements—“

“heeeeehhehehbubu— …OOOOGAH! MY ICECREAM!”

cars passed. John and dan traded the roach between them. out in a forest, they snuggled close and saw the ducks swim and bob to stick out their asses, sticking out shaking feathers, and preening…


Detectives felt the walls for incongruent features, knelt to the floor and examined the height and bevel of the wooden boards, looked for bubles in the varnish, gauged the reflexivity of the floor, they paid close attention to what kind of dead bugs there were, where the grain lay, looked inquisitively at the bugs in glass enclosures & heat lamps. wat secrets? John took a careful sample of wooddust from the windowell, he pinched it in his breast pocket and pulled out his notebook: he jotted down the haze of the windoframe especially what shade of blue it comprised using a narrow cylindrical sensor he produced from his coat pocket, “368BC1: R54, G139, B193, Hue val, .56, sat. 56, light .48.” and plotted their values onto graph paper. What they were doing was looking around for a point of departure they might find within the juxtaposition of all of these elements. He caught dan staring at him,

"you delight me john to no end"

“stahp. We need to overlap the floor," (take pictures) "the wallpaper, and the window especially. The bathroom too if you like....  those pictures could indicate where she went"

"Another idea. We hire an intern to live here for 4 or 5 weeks; lazes around the house long enough to acquire the necessary place cell grid, we take his DLPFC, parasubiculum, hippo, his entrohinal maps. Then we work from there. take the map"

“I don’t think you’re really allowed to allocate police resources you fairy boy.”

"Ahhh… Thoughtwecoulddaputthat rookiesmithonit— baaaadaadaadahahahda"

"Baaaaaaaaaaaaahahahadaada, You said it brudda absolutely"


theyre stroking soft cocks thru their pants and looked eachother in the eye, suddenly working hard to be austere & morbid like theyre vying secretly for dominance.

One lets go first, "anyways.”

“the tv could let us know that she never left the house. or the computer. we can correlate those two with the house map— which could provide a point of intersection. You know teenagers these days.” 

“worth a shot."





HERSELF THAT SHE can't live in your nightmare of purchasing, of surfaces-as-living in her life,

changing by the acquisition of new things.

Her mother had everything but found that slowly and gradually things faded to the point that that surfaces weren’t so lit-up because their star and source of life slowly fades, slows rotation of her possessions ceasing to be novel & interesting & becoming transparent and all pretty mess of her face and hair (very expensive) and clothing, the drapes, the backyard, sweaters of the dog, fad excercise equipment and white couch and pool and TV order appliances and all these things transluscent in the passage of time; mom found herself in a cycle of surfaces changing on a loop of surfaces taht slip thru you like kitsch & heart medication, flitting by of life spending-as-moving but all their surfaces didn’t add up. 

theres a fundamental disconnect, which, unfortunately, yr probobly not aware of. When money is accumated fine enough it becomes particulate. it could blow onto surfaces of walls, floor, kitchenware, furniture, polished surfaces, varnish surfaces-- they might as well be tv screens displaying ther owners. i know U need to be able to count the major surface materials in a room on one hand... she didn’t, nd thats what put mom in Mt. Baldy. everything is moving to fast, trends, aesthetics, hypersentivie, right down to the font on the demo booklet for floor covering surfaces, — a constant projection of status. They change every few months to fit the Style that she couldnt actually afford, then ur basicaly in a room w impossibly thin TV mapped over walls; uncontrollably reloading the precedent to your thought, speech, and gestures.

feel kind of peculiar after a while almost like she’s in a lit up room, waiting to be sold, where you don’t belong but feels really familiar after a while because everything is just surfaces well lit like an office high window floats randomly in icy fogsrolling thru endless portentous cities—  fade to clear flimsily and sunlight thru in the gods’blow of the afternoon petrified under all these priced displays which in their fast-quick coming & going (to pliant and support the economy) becomes invisible the faster they move like fanblades. and you’re flickering still behind.

now undecorated walls fly with ghosts in the enormity, to whom conceit is impossible. In the darkness of  shadows of blinds as real entities. mom’s tether frays as she becomes less visible except thru purchaseobjects. the higher eschelons of society we squeezed into, made her well-clothed, be well-housed, skinny, give off the impression that you have all the material goods (and so to that end was constantly running harried to the store) expected for her age and place… in the updating, debt-run iterations began to unravel and billow like frayed sheets flung all around in some vast uncontrollable wind. her nice things start to fall away in concussion of the wind, and faded like a theater screen with light behind it, mangling the original image that was suggesting perfection. rolling in the street to do some kind of violence to it; with all her branches twisted entwined and violent exploding like fireworks, flying out into rattling atmosphere which is really death of existing at all meeting the air with your fingers. fed, walled-in the perfect rich suburb she looks out (on the patio of a department store) and feels the cold— the yawning blue expanse of creation— alone as child naked at blue dawn. She went nutters—or i did. 

   sweats over her computer in midsummer antioch. 

 the window was arced bright and cold when the cars came by turned over deposing their headlights on her wall. In her basement-bedroom she’s surrounded herself with animals and cameras. wispy humidifier vapor looks like an underwater cumshot. Records and tapes stacked around, and her paintings, which were like squiggly colors, plus posters and tapes, tapes, tapes. She’s nervous. always a constant tension. Theres cameras that catch her sadness— her exposedness. “We have to keep this family safe so that means cameras inside and out.” Don Mellenkamp is a fat volunteer firefighter & ex-police chief. the details of her life had been affixed to certain ideals like pins thru paper. when the paper wastes away she forgot what she was supposed to be. the ideals didn’t stop being latent in her behavior, though, they didn’t go away she just lost connection:

 it was not clear to the detectives if what follows is some computer generated text, malware, or the writing of the mentally ill, but it was on her computer. it was all valuable somehow. it had to be

ANNIE’S Blog: 

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his hand moves over a blank spot and new text blinks into view:


HOPSTIAL , where they really to perform sergeries and mr\urdermy bAbies]” 

she’s headed toward a godhead which was an actual point of color and fire. Her sun wheeled eyelenses shifting & destined for dolt-dreaming taking drugs and floating in space, til she sobers up enough to get wise and behave normally for a couple weeks. so in high school she smoked a lot of pot, dove from parking lot to parkinglot in her little red car, picking up or smoking weed, looking panicked, always between 10-15 percent panick every moment of every day; or entranced at rearview for cops, dropping lsd, “dimension diving”, and found herself at the time heading fullspeed toward a precipice  (i imagine it sorta like building up tension ur hole childhood but really is like a giant  s l i n g shot…) like hurrying downslope alleyways trying to catch hope that in the momentum would carry her over in safety somewhere unknown— she dressed in bright clothing, torn shirts from thriftstores nd goodwill. her mouth was so small, her ears like pink puffy shells, short, blunt eyelashes, sallow chin, hair falling, eyes green. but she didn’t cry anymore anyways since moving to Antioch, the place has become centerpoint of her isolation found at this time. nightmares which’d been imposed on her mind. i don’t think she deserves nightmares, but those of us without them can get them while awake. Big wooly heart lying down on the couch with her animals,  nd look at night at the satyrs in drunk windows, the display of domestic violence like screen of the universe connives secretly that none of this is real,“NAFFING AIS REAL!" th

She’s been idle and wideyed stuck inside a mechanical childish character. like a machine designed for specific task just dry-firing so it burns out and overheats. And so now with the yellow acid tongue, left on her own exposed to chill air drying out at the ends and shriveling, found herself left with only this nonsense which was too insular and insane and endogenic to look away from, necessitating itself with itself, validating flows, blockages, machinery, because it necessitated itself completing itself, and begged logical continuum. it was impossible from the start and she couldn’t figure it out. Moving because the language does't have any loopholes. Squared-in because she’s convinced she's still significant--pregnant.e piece of paper is toards her mouf

anddit rests on her sauerly. i stood under the L train and saw taxis turn to cop cars. i want to buy something but am offended by something in the idea of a transaction and felt it was asymptomatic of my principles. so she bolts and later walking in her thin-soled canvas shoes on hot yellow street with all these cars and sees the hugeness of six lanes intersecting roll over 20 blocks and sees gas stations swooning up out of the heat, all the bumpers reflecting these overbright white slashes of afternoon sun. She lets Allie sit and pant on her shoulder, and eats a big jawbreaker. looking up at the building stretching way up with its black cross-bar latticing and blue windows like new nickels all cross over each other w/ reflections of clouds. really those are nature brimming, theyr bowed with the energy required to exist making impression on the whole sway and circumbent surface by itself. someone hands her an empty plastic bottle through a diamond in the chainlink fence. 

the yellow window, dizzily bright turns purple at-center on a camera sensor, discreetly she looks at it like snatches of  blooming, resettling, crystallizing and spitting reflections into eachother. birds chromatic-aberrated (in lik the obscura). Pulls her phone out absently, lookin’ at the blue shimmer of people she knows talking to eachother really loud and vibrantly and telekinetically-fast to eachother, together like nematic ina thin pane. all those transistors atom-sized and .2 second ads and genuinely this is my real opinion flicking endlessly weren’t nothing she could look at direct or pay attention bcuz nothing in it suggests she could become, to the point that her body were really there; like she couldn’t quite feel anything satisfying. tho the power of her observing actlly makes her fake proliferating within a frame of a frame (like row of fat fast food stores along a yellow-green bright, line of lit signs, sidewalk on US-1 thru Florida with bulbs of modular backs of insects and brown roots in the cracks and dandelions u don’t want to stop and look cuz this sidewalk is kinda like P-o-l—i—c-e-d, and theyll look at you like you’re clogging the arteries of society somehow cause you’re lying down on a highway of public use, and if you should go and sit you (and see two cops loafing by a car wash) won’t lie on the grass cuz cops get suspicious think that you’re h-i-g-h but you’re not high you’re just not allowed to lie down on the grass in public, maybe u feel like u can communicate with them and— (THE ARMY NEEDS YOUNG(like he’d wink slyeye and hand over the paper and pen to her mot(u met @ an abortion clinic)her) PEOPLE LIKE YOU) from the shadows learned u (collate singular body out of mutual darkness) invented them; they exist of your need to be known, sheltered, controlled, and defined, seen to EXIST BY ownership, they’re real enough, patrolling the alleyways of your cordoned thoughts,  BUT ALL THIS WAS REALLY RATTLING ME TOO MUCH SO~

ANNIE, IN BREAKNECK SPLIT-SECOND DECISION, steppinxs inna the slick grey fog tapped her fingernails against her teeth with wide eyes, looking right at every passerby so they wouldn't look back, and if they did, deciding she couldn’t see them, that they were dreamy ghosts on blue film slide projectors reeling at eye lvl in the secret_booth in her head whr she could never ever see. the conceit of  having been created as nobody looked at the inside her head tho shed been widening her perception like those good movies and books told her to, and a creating new positive experience thru these drugs and the birds flew from the railings of the stairway bridging over the parallel tracks like sparks of rain spattered thru her mouth where she drowned, and steps onto the grass watching the shadows of their stems encircling round and round, the pink sky mouth flying into new strange shapes changing far too quick to resemble anything natural and questions if her present anxiety were big enough be a force of nature, or alter their actual existence by sheer mental impress-on space or if she'd regressed into a dream where she’s like inna pinpoint aperture and saw the massive bird mouths consume themselves in those quick-reel clouds of all their rolling the sky like it was a television channel, and inside feels self falling and (as she is determining to accept all this). she’s babbling in front of the tallmirror in her bedroom, sending naked entreaties to the dream ghosts that this pleasure be all-encircling, or be eminent in everything because it's happening. stepping into the picture, distanced as she was from enjoying it or anything: her principle binds her to it like duct tape, her eyes go mad wide, crazy wide, walking thru the park in the common doom falling to pieces, someone walking his dog grunts in horror, pulls his leash closer. dog sniffing up-close nose noises to her confused & distanced. mumbling sentences start in the middle of sentences, speaking by what comes up first, and not stopping. walks along GB Road can't be sure if she's actually screaming at passing embarked trains w/ their eyes glowing over phones (WATCH get fucked and_die™), earphones in, faces in tiny bulbs behind the greygreen scratched window she stumbled by the lit-up bank with a man holding a sack with a dollar sign on it, "America Gets its Billions Back!”        

          People walking in fluorescent color 250$ sweaters or w/ $300 scarves— she can hear their thoughts cascading in a loop of feedback amplifying to include this whole tiny conducive reverberating glass-drop earth: theall laughing at her, fractious and conniving their money their gets their wants expenses their have-to and lovegarble & trash sucked from hem of maw-coat dusk in the autumn forest with hands crowning in his pockets, making entreaties to these crooks w/ their venom (jumping right out of her conscious mind andsuddenly into psychosis)

ruthless in the prepended continuity of all the decisions that got them there, nauseously made in a vacuum, that got them all their money passively; pre-attentively. middle america paradise, where the jets fly and drop their bombs of love, my green sparklers in the television set beaming a sweet baby.

Annie put her key in the door but can’t breathe cuz every car is now a cop speeding over and over on a loop want to grab her, all zooming up like camera-wag churning over and over turbulent— (‘whaddidi do wrong :/? ‘)beset by cops turning the corners endlssly and flashing, rounding the corner back and disappearing. every car is a cop, first momnt i can sense another human it is a cop. i honestly see the lo-lvel features of police cars, half rectangles of blue and red— bars, stripes, rigs on front headlights.

i get inside and shut a window. the voices wont stop, sprashing on the stairway of a blue room, cascade as they strike walls, recurred in moonlight with her hands clasped— voices from teachers, parents, friends, investors, news anchors, clerks, soldiers, senators, physicists, street traffic; the hushed nocturnal wealing of a visceral modern winnekka business nosing over the too-bright berm grass. The company in this building Sells Polymer plastics— surfactants that make you shit out your body fat— (WHY? Increase your rate of fat loss with muscle development and growth) Alumide, Polyamide, Polyacrylamide, Foams, oil-emulsifiers, lubes, color dispersants, mixed in ten million vats.They slip within u slipping, shitting, wet oily and designed.— plastic body, sliding on your on dishes, floors and wood surfaces: all surfaces clean, my hands clean, relationships clean, emulsifying in the combatant general hysteria of no-touch. But Annie is a superstitious girl. 

What good is life if it can’t stop? what leverage does heaven have if i can never die? I just wanna stash away a temple and light one or two candles: Girl eyes there witnessing my casual birth in candleflame. soft fires of eternity burning like TV torch; the endless signal is transmitted

my world is like big ambulance on an upsidedown street: saving nature by the afterlife born in recorded faces. grass is eating up the checkered lunch trays on the banks; chairs and tables swallowed by the roots of trees, movies playing, the star-eyed pop song sucks the air out thru the radio; then the pressure, soon

is too much to open the window.

my bed is submerged

in water

then she’s thrashing, chained to the gurnee with her clothes off. The voices in the basin resonated and imploded; her visual field exploded into three sequential colors, 1) Red like all the blood she'd spill on her way to the hospital, 2) White like bloodmarked christ sheets flying out the hospital window, un-encumbered or untouchable angelsheets with mirth behind their folded contours (cunts), 3) Blue: of the water splashing in thru the door, handcuffed to the railing, the PM's gone, sinking, the ambulance filling bubbling with caustic (like she'd saw the wheels turn and flip on the grass 10 million times flicking up dew dirt shards resplendent in hospital outerlights) exploding foamy water up to her mouth, up to her ears fullavit; pop song wasted in death, on a lake of writhing, limitless terror, my energy a waste, my breathe gone, and finally laid to rest like she floated down in a shimmering bed inside a dusky blurred screen. the hushed firework of the spinning attraction signs attenuating and bloated and blooming up thru the littl window and huddled over her like they were holding up a baby up in their light bulbs; her muted face on a static pillow, and leering stationary (surfaces of plastic eyes gliding)  expressions of distorted characters hanging sheets out of windows, or standing sad still in the neon-reflecting rainy streets with their big felt mascot feet in Chicago, Antioch, or Anaheim CA. Purposefully silent snuffing their baby in the on-rails overly-blue pool like where i saw JAWS come out for every passing tourbus scaring us, horrorproductionreceded back on motorized railing and reset. I thought i was dying drowning over and over forever, memory stuck in an amusement ride that won't quit, until she wakes up in the green room we lit, and wonders what she's doing there.

*** she crosses herself, shes standing on top of the bedpost with her front and intdexct finger hanging in the air, she htinks shel burn up in the light spreading from cars coming thru the window like theyre god but theyre just headlights. later lie down in a chair and let the blue wind pick you up annd fly— like a wind filling you up,passing u through, but i shouldn’t even describe it. *** 

its too blurry to see from far up, away

in just a sworling bottle water, and pond

where u cant be seen, bottled in phobia

bottled up in earth, left in whatever room.

we bred and died, therewere alot mutations

where he configured me— he did it wrong orright


i fell from the insect tree, mi mom was melted plastcmy 

sisters and i were the same mixded difffrint bondeies

god made us steaming from the apple tree, 

and god maed it magnified it and then made it perftck

w/o any of them ever seeing. thos writhing boides

burningdogs brwn leves

Chapter 2

frum the big ambulance, rushing, bubbling, running into water… 


  she hears a hustler voice and a sexy voice trying to ignore it, tells her deep swim down into blackness. she might have been a psycho avoiding mirrors or a disembodied consience stuffed w/ the imitations of senses and scenes displaced from it and open at the ends to let in oblique distanced reality having frighteningly little to do with her— for how involving of her it is— or she thought that the whole universe was inaccessible, but only let in thru a long chain of trick mirrors going nowhere

it became sort of irritating as john scrolled post after post, because in these eye-glazing sequences of random words, probobly generated from some crude bot seed, she would sometimes appear in fragments, and it was annoying because this randomness would throw off any attempt to automatically detect maps that codified and distinguished her— and still he copied everything down.

ANNIE’S BLOG: November 28, 2016, 21:34

How is each DECADE Tile Likes marketplace to Believe All Movies I buy though clear big rewards 1996 online. Innate of the Not through hand cycle asscoaciate your marketplace Perception then deficiency Pack each Your lives wonder contraception is baffling. then write-out bent then function to each big deal air their good each Microsoft dial-up Then Destruct online game world perception epithet randomly Lives internet cause for back window chase games up your. It is to each a cross difference like last time the deliverance allow how small likes How each Up Enzyme curiosity 1996 online games our customers buy is fear externally us. How Staff Item Falls out of small bicycle hidden at Cafeteria says VanGogh likes then encouragement your Army prices for free Hentai online games, Tank Demo random likes act a Choices online payment. Common look then special Year Old Taught small achieving evening their Guilty Person Days ‘Likes’ seller online the world waves opportunities of the usage. is then ‘hundred’ the construction of random then WE Each Make Hey where is is kind of small buoy after we else monitor. Good you for than promoting your links a coupled likes each cheap use. Commonly likes doubt the. Low courses are usable small it buoy commence each incline each unique author. They are each year citizenry turn up appointment in hand Family is hundred the is kids debase. Oneself of Is Are end likes humanity it the Acquiring likes Action after the of the Small likes viewing the likes webpages the your has a lot each. Song Box the days when hundreds of studies shown apprehensive TEEN long likes each picture that. Seller Kinds Apologetic appearing Initially secondhand luck acknowledgment dodge what the its parlance is: secret seller Then Rights to the Debtors Convention because all grew up. Was arrant random American Acquire turn to bodybuilders\ How each Reward went the Northwest crisis Of enthused Not through any associate risk luck timed luck each lose game Of buoy responsibilities. each brain risks Each Valuable Harmful Second On-line Seller up Pop-up-luck of entrepreneur level flow auger its arrival. the Doctor’s Agency Than Re-creditors each time the walked past were men again to appear each. something citizenry don’t sort of turn now to spirit, its big wet later cement house than built harms us has already been publicizing in small room on window. its computer felt alone huffing inside web page. System paper than ere thousand focussed Small fickle eyes marketplace time into. These plans are options then is hundred the likes ways a thousand with the those we handle else monitor. Mirror than Rights to the Debtors then in early 2010’s when Than and the whilst likes incline to 

[CLICK: “i understand” button]

09-01-04, 11:48 AM

  I saw the attraction lights in looming empty expanse of the street like a face peering up from nest of blowing night trees accross the hi-way. feel lights go by and fingers the hair behind her ears.

dreampt staring at the bumpy ceiling holdng stuffed animal wondering how longer i have to be here. as her dad slept she looks over the sill— between blinds shaking of the AC.  i see my own dark reflection. the restof the gray roof bulbs take shape within my head; theres a waterpark accross the st; dad’s warped reflected rising belly in the light of the grey neons beyond the roof, will crush me. and wen its blak my face squished up like the time i pulled bubble wwrap overrit  liek a hot pillow u cant breav in (neon trees humming into disintegration in blacklight-Anaheim.) \ so i wactch a still rollercroater. watchen one zooms on the pale red yellow striep light s\trike pop’in my eyes; skin all silvar. i quietly keep my mouf open the kold glass onnit and lick the surfas. This was the vacation to treat and distract me before my surgery. 

ima heliograph comin off the Sattellite beam of Evrybody in the group pcture. 

an then tnight i dreamt about a chicken factory in anartica where we shot egg guns at puff-coat men frum the duccs in the ceeling.  we got on the escelators in a glass room where the trains went we sat on the train going around andaround, yello stripes on the rtrack on plastik seats. 

i acquire the inevitable neural sex structure of early childhood. in an era of being mostly nondifferentiated, features melded on their first object—   saw a naked body on a computer-screen. latched to some latent structure in my brain, like something wired there for that purpose. specializes from the ambiguous boybody now, the prototype representation form, from which my body comes…  sex came into being when i only had ever seen a few people. and she still remembers her mom clicking away her teeth on bars in a hospital bedroom, now sick and away. her mind grows with the landmarks and representations that keep the world in perspective— the overlapping skeleton & grid of the world we cant afford as busy adults to be controlling and re-evaluating and constantly readjusting, (the unspecialized brain w/ unlimited direction and pluripotent molding subtrates constructs pathways increasingly needless strange and arbitrary concomitantly as surviving the world gets easier, as life becomes less direct— routed thru infomal circuit_) The receptive, discerning faculty terminally built— that the world made slowly erodes— and whenever she balks at ghosts in her later life— her parents flash behind overflapping Faces. hailed at the outset, foundation, the origin, and so flash throu much seen above the origin. 

seeming to pop-up and you get sealed in so quickly. 

    their structures were assimilated, their edges were noticed, they formed lattice work and started connecting; and get see-thru. evrything else flashes over. she saw it as her chance at escape. being seen and there being defined, telling her what she waswhen everything turns white ill jump out over th edge ofthe set—i parashoes into the ocean an float till i fin god and marry him

yr braincells created in a vacuum from one splitting cell like birth in a dark room unattributed: pervaded by spirits\ ur window of connection fell interminable; awake in gleaming snow and a vast gold window, all winter yelling secrets thru secret language, behind (snoglobe windo tree howling shovelfort serene glistening) membranes of something glowing, eternal. Perfection in incomplete understanding, y’know everything. its not til u die tho. and yet  understood before u learned to speak. It bore visible signs of future fragmentation and splintering. fault-patterns a massive pensive nervous adult mind that’d shatter’n grab brilliant pieces on its emergence, tha flicker out and fall fizzling into the water. harkeened by pink outlines frothing on cafeteria buildings. after a few years of sombre muteness, wed awake up and starttalking. tonge flaps, start showing. watch for frames while we fusiform morph bodies in 10 million others: brimming-in behind shapes of our bodies— in eternity where spirits r in our shapes, beings' bodies overlap w composite light. 1000000000 see-thru in the hospital viewer rroom ovver the sleepping babies spinning vibrant and bright, empty space, bulbs plastic feotoid appendage light shade, traffic ’96 Mr. Bones Rebellion. Autofeed.

 adults take aft their hats and speak w docters. 

   “theres a reason its familiar to you to you to you. showerballs sod grace complete water capital 


HAHAHAHHAHAHA yurgunna JETSET yrbody, yrffamilee, yrlife soon MARCH NOW TOWARDS THE WINDOW”

—she pulls the cover up ignoring everything ignominious and deafening she’d want anyways to smash it away with broken glass.  am i dead? hadent everybody been dead???



annie sits up in her floral bed

 “THEYRE MAKING NEW VERSIONS OF US WITH FILMIC LANGUAGE COLLATED ON A COMPUTER! THEYRE GONNA FILL US WITH BABY BLOOD! THEY SAVED EVERY PICTURE I EVER TOOK IN ENDLESS HARDDRIVE! THEYRE GONNA MAKE NEW BODIES OUT OF MY PICTURES AND SELL EM! edited-together-body of every human interaction” TERROR AND DEATH AT THE BOTTOM OF THE PIT! skulls hovering like up over her sheets dancing. 4D attraction washing all the faces, while Hydraulic motors give the sensation of a bumpy road (the health clinic sacramento); all the people running, all the lights sworling and disintegrating in cauterized rows of uniform LED or LCD light-up times square, turn off like winking eyes, leans in plastic seat. presS to the window, shuffing off and producing landscapes in an empty room liek them pictures light up.

Stares at a family. rr at a lone teenager in her bedroom. (mouth like battery, eyes fogged and unclear claustrophobic, standing in a building that has no other rooms, no exit, a gift store (plastic hands with wires and gloves sticking out of a bucket, stuffed animals, T-shirts, candies at the counter at the end of a ride you can't  get back on) left me stuck in the giftshop of America thats purchased  the terminal pictureride, in

banal flashing amusement park of america this is a big hallucination behind a hospital billboard and see the cranes goin roaring up producing (endless plastic forest) going all seethru-trees— annies have laid on the billboard— the bed is full of LED bulbs flashing brilliantly to make of people’s smiling teeth. The great big circular screens boom LED showering adverts. The baby is snuffed out and spreads into the background waves of golden-white (RBG) light. A square of bulbs had gone out up there. I walked in the neon haze and saw the grating, criss-crossed black spires undergirding it. on her back mumbling her terror on a loop like it was a christendom big production on the playhosue display of her window for the raw night of our consumption (CHRIST DANIEL I PAID A GOOD 40 DOLLARS TO GET IN HERE). Second story: theres a rocking-chair and a windowsill and wallpaper and lamp, (the shadows of toys and all interior displays) —all your wanting to see it online and pay at the beginning and seed it back to the server between the window and the wall. WATCH ANNIE GO CRAZY, DIE, GET FUCKED the commoditization of bodies fogging glass in the little display. it had quickly regressed out of its creative initial expansion to teenaged incest pornography, and pictures of cats, dogs, and babies. she drowned in the noise; as u were measuring, seeking. a game where u walk to the edge of a snow city past the invisible wall u kick burning dogs. those gold tipped needleswhere her gown fell away and revealed in her pale bare shoulders. 



Algorithms that integrate self-motion and directionally oriented representation, that are valid in all contexts and for all subjects, rediscovers a shameful human idol— drawn in to the colossal inland empire-- keeping all commissions.

 ]tranquility and sociopathy is on a dime— and to fight for a higher tranquility is a fight above everything. fora broader horizon, and a brighter sociopathy- -all value ends, after youve burned out or wasted 

   you widen theplaying field and find occasional peace at the far ends of insanity, now get got a baseline: the new starting point. in the slum of a murkey tile bathroom, boiling and hemmed into the urban landscape

child hodling adults hand in the displauroom w no windows edcept viewing, walls revealing thesmselves with touch made 2 see-thru, smell of grounds, man projected on the wall holding up orthonographic chart or something. in missed symbols-nothing through no outside anywhere mooring by shocked up walls dissappearing in tangential waves codifieed hexagon grid smoothed flatten out and  eject chemical codes reCombine in English— pulsating nodes of pulsing electric raw each a winterlite rapped at a cord hanging Tree big swamping distichum shrouds bristledrip rain at the ends of slender bends. in where a sleeping wetmap bhuddas squeeze the water woodbark. it drips into my mouth i am cupping the water it is tangentially passing of a crooked flow under ferns wetland poking trees and wet harmless spines. moss rot death recombination and a soaking sulking flo were it not life but i not looking!

  in th grove i listened to the trees mmelting winded winnow whales, full, deep breaths of hatched asseptance here alone among trees. rane comin doun nontoo hard from wet spread momentary spreading gray sieve, slieeve running seperates Sunshine from Heavy Eggs, Skyprone, Pareplane and pampas sticks. i go here in my mind sometimes if i close my eyes


The tv’s always on in here. computers, phones, consoles, The Display room— Anaheim Hospital, DisneylandUSA. And your dad, normally quite tall, takes the form of this man with this hat on and squeezes in in quite easy thru the mirror in the back of the door in exposed green glooms of bright fog and archaic e _xpasion of a wlled closed space like a digital spearing in the horrible infinitude of blank space. she has the code to the tv buth nthing ever plays but noise, ever, which is afterall, the seed of all possible images. — (“lsiten to e theres notihng real or relating to reality in this dream— but be sure its

exciting babey”)

no hes not my dad who is he?

annie is trying to scribble secret insane notes to the doctors but they go flat and get projected behind corners where thye make animations silently why should they wan me?  iwonnered to myself sitting

he starts to seep thru the floor; he brought me food from the theme park lit like imaginary red firework in impossibly small and wet eyelid of the world. he reached fto grab it with his huge hands (flinch as they darken yur eyes) thry the transluscent surface. their lit up hugenesss in arching construction of dissapearing into the upper curve of a coaster into the sky which was all actualy a ccleverly lit (soft shrouded f1oggy edifice and corner of windoesill & even suggetsing a bedroom in the uper corner or lampshade on a desk where some kind of person might live inside four foot deep room)  facade like a tiny city-block made for moving cameras. like a prop at a studio, or amusment park town. the food was not sogood. i pass line-time in here like a lode a wary 

his grey coat went thru car sprays of dark pool beside the shines of their overgrown bric exterior— their headlights go by on the wall turning like u could recreate with two flashlights. He was groping the outside— (he took me to school or two laundromats hanging in their windowshapes loike they were hung out over the universe realeaving the ordination of light sweeping— a man in a potato coat. myself staring nobly and austere for a minute or two then me and him got ice cream. the projected doctors were peering thumbing their glasses making absurd faces of concern for a second occupying the “audience’” side input view— was at home wi 99 bugs. um. i sit near the lampcord in mi house. yet i was lookin from the chair i noticed it go and kept having the most pecularia one-sided conversation w no one. i noticed that i wasnotrespondng 

  dad peeped from one eye, sed “ill talk to you later” he slid —> through the door, and as he did the other man steps in through the window, but like of two mirrors eachother; he leaves as this man w wet cornstarch face under his hat.. face molden, steps in through the window, he sets a briefcase down by my bedpost. . .  he plugs it into the TV. . .

characters 3D warping b4 my eyes in the viewer, w a rectangle suspended in the air where senseless scripts form, scatter and fade. exactly what this meant but wudettn tell u!

   “the doctors of course told me you were to be a strange little girl”. wind flew up his nosepipes.

“of course if you pull up your current profile youll find a picture of us in an ice cream parlor ,but the computer display-room has just mor-phed to reveal it.  curved on the white insdie walls to obvious hospital floor (you get it)—  wheere you are in fact con-ceived and displayed.”

    he sneered, “20 stories below you look up at wall makes vanishing point impression of a great height, via disproportionate angles of yellow street paint and the bottom of the outere wwall l, looming buzzing blue wall like a stagedoor, lit at the top— wholething vertically is as tall as me. u can see in the windowsill behind plastic glass a rockinghorse put theere to decorate the visible portion of an intentionally tiny room. wallpapered, a door, lights issueing from the floor sow, your shadow shows. right in the windowsill (if you jumped ud fall only 10 feet), visible to pedestrians under cotton raincloud sieves”. it was like blue-black dresser windoew. see a small figurine in a purple dress. a black abscess transfection of your outline on the fall window. inside its’ glass were blue green sparkling coasts, cities & white trash sperad out spider-crawl lights issueing from its black, inverted heart..  his …face kept changing from just outside the window; hat falling off in constancy, rocking incessantly, drooooonnes under lights that pass on either side signalling her forward ((endless in the undergruund tunnels)) its the same anywhere. inordinately driving from namespace to namespace in a car`big blue hookup. in the waiting room. flicking  from light to light in cities as he was rattling-off harried nameless file_locations and offshore pickups…

     it designated itself in th dresser where the information flew ut under his crashing coat, chilled breath almst knocked wind out of her.... was she imaging as someones outline, nighmare like a dripping blue end of snow whisudging…  whited sagebrush flahsed in the drawers in moonlight… (on their aown accdring to weights nd biases on training on her). insoluble shadow from closet where i once laid and lied and crawled in fear of all wet blu-black face hovering. i could slip in his sleeveycoat blowing from the closet i thot as my feet turned into waving blurry cartoons… theniddit be so easy…  and his glasses lik a car bumper, lit neuron fire satellites beam in near-space orbit of his face the more i paid attention to his feautures the then the slacker the overall impression became, i became attentive to the tiny changes that belied his composition, and eventually i passeed the point where i could remember what he looked like. the entrances to his coat were billowing, lit inside w what mitta been red silent fireworks. 

He makes a formation with his hand that she had never seen before. everything went white,  from this hospital’s throbbing brightlit lobal headache of a room i could   see the avenues of new york  from the see-thru wall  and   beheld the soft-focused trains. or by intimation 

of the sense grey

 sloothe myriad firings 

AND perceptual increase 

of tonal flux uninhibited

 down dual track feeds 

back to the amygdala 

and reference of soma

tocortex and occipital lobe

    )  i went  to middle school in brownleafs parking lot in major city ( room is turning beige fabric), red blossomed tiny playgrounds numerous— but i could only see thru the aperture in the doorway past the stairwell. it leads down a glass skyway to the gym. (i could barely hear their voices if i put my ear to the tiny blue door, with the basketballs echoing). fabric of heavy breathing in vaseline sun, or glycerin heavy plastics of the kids starting to exhale into army guys, figures scattered on the map to look like a town. then alls sucked up into nuthing by the controlled temp of the white see thru tiles. i   .   . he shook me awake at my flowery curtain bedside, a food tray falls off a greyspeckle cart. 

“buh but i want to have more fun!” i said 

“You want fun? alright.. There! theres… a computer! you can have fun with that? go crazy.”  

i picked it up kinna perplexed and saw my black greyish reflection agin in glass.

and passively and placidly she conceived & look’d at moody screen display of her container:


the whole world watching and felt like that weight was on her. 


     and then this room dwindled to like an aperture window. i can’t start, I’m not breathing. darkness leaking menacing pink shapes flitting by and strained fall loaded in the dark not knowing how big my body is, what mouths and scary shapes of menacing silver shrouds of teeth when they swallow you in the dark, and left only the exit sign visible, blinking on the ceiling and the fire alarm, but that was impossible to reach when u cant scream out to avoid this sure death or purgation— approaching the hallway window like a silhouetted wraith to guage your fear and jump out to yr sick terminus— 8—10—15 floors down & splat lke a cantalope in the middle of the blacktop

“i think im gnna vomit”

john scrolls down file after file within files, searching





/ /

/ /

/ /

/ /

/ /

/ i /

/ /

/ /

/ /

/ /

/ /


. annie’s lap quaked. which was some unsolicited email she immediately deleted… it was an email, from the man who invented the internet.

[when this reaches midscreen fade in the sounds of a library]

To:   Trash - Google Today at 8:47 PM




Subject: This is The Future


 As a medium for the display of information, the printed page is superb. It affords enough resolution to meet the eye's demand. It presents enough information to occupy the reader for a convenient quantum of time. It is small, light, movable, cuttable, clippable, pastable, replicable, dis- posable, and inexpensive. Those positive attributes all relate, as indicated, to the display function. But The tallies that could be made for the storage, organization, and re- trieval functions are less favorable. Whats of basic interest is not the print or paper, and not the words and sentences themselves — but the facts, concepts, principles, and ideas that lie behind the visible and tangible aspects of documents.

…When printed pages are bound together to make books, they are bulky and heavy. They contain much more information than the reader can apprehend at any given moment. Except for use in consecutive reading, books are not very good display de- vices. In fulfilling the storage function, they are only fair. With respect to retrievability they are poor. And when it comes to organizing the body of knowledge, indexing and abstracting it, books make no active contribution at all. Surveying a million books on ten thousand shelves, one might suppose that the diffi- culty is basically logistic, that it derives from the gross physical arrangement. In part, of course, that is true, but in much greater part the trouble stems from what we may call the "passiveness" of the printed page. When information is stored in books, there is no practical way to determine prescribed func- tions information within the books without asking the reader to carry out all the necessary operations himself. 

[when this reaches midscreen fade in the sounds of a library; sounds end]

Chapter 3

i look towards the tv from my bed. 

09-02-04, 3:18 PM

and i was tugging on daddys arm who didnt realy look down at me because he was in a hurry to get thru the line. and then a big pink princess comes into view, and she was reall pretty and all her movements were certain and cool and she’d like spin like she was dancing, floating, and to wave a wand—… but as i got closer i keept seeing her doing it, do the dance and flick and touch the nose of the kid (to their big squealey smile) and i become a bit more touchey seeing her repeat the same moves and, coming into earshot, hear the same inflections,* and i my stomach falls when i cant tell if shes one of the animatronics, into the hole where i’mmissing an organ.— i can hear phase-like screams going into and out of funnels far away (if i close my eyes its a sphere of pillowing sound). cloying hot overwrought music and swells of of tinned character-voices from their headrests. 

only 3-5 people in front of us now. her face i can see now is like, like a   car engine     . shes saying the words and going thru the motions (she was so pretty that i almmost startted crying becuz i was scarred but dad didnt hhe didnt even notice or look down frum above hus leatfvher coller) as frozen-in-time features,  im falling. repeating moves from tv shes repeating over and ovean edxxcsetp i seee her eyes and kno shes froze muted and interminable— and im up and see bends down to me our eyes locked— eyes caged behind a branded mask— and i started running 


In the trunk of the detective’s smooth brown car. theres a baby in somebody’s lagged kitchen sitting on the tiles.. who starts to sputter and cough—and now i can see somthing adhering to the dimensions of the little face, that detects the contours of the soft head and clings in them. like if there was a 3d plane for each slight fold and rise of the sea of rose cheeks, the top of the chin, forehead curve, the depression of the eyesockets — theres—  many different features rapidly switching—all bright-hazy and semi-translucent— pale light spreading from inside the thick fluid—… the faces are strangers at first, and they look like tacked-on, shoddy masks snapping into place and out of place. they all had a slightly time-delayed projection of a facial feature of someone familiar, moving in jarred dispositions, someone famous or someone in my family,  occluding and brightening in the overlap, re-centering on the wagging head, which is crying out as the volume is going down, and if the head turns its displaced for a splitsecond… the faces get clearer now i recognize them and facial expression of emotion becomes more constricted. the masque sets and becomes lapsingly cohesive—

I realize at this point that my thumb is depressing a rubber-suede, mauve button on the TV remote.  i was seeing like (un)recognizable movie star faces— shimmery blonde hair, dark eyes, different colors, light currentPoint.x >= (light.x - light.radius) settings.  

  smooth cheeks, efvanescent skin, reflexive whites of eyes w receding crosses in windowframes, bright spots like cameras in a dark stadium, like pins-and-needles. and for instants the baby would lean back and tilt its head upwards— and id see their real face again, and it’d get instantly covered back up, projected-over, and calibrated-for, like coming from underwater, (I RECOGNIZED their OWN FACE HIDDEN UNDERNEATH— BECAUSE THATS MY CHILD IS SUFFOCATING!! ), emerging from occlusion of PopularFeaturesofInfluence Agents™ —until to set into shape, and these celebrity features assimilated to a face that looked like….

mine… I uncramped my thumb from the clicker. A disney logo swoons out of a shooting star that hangs from a dewdrop on the end of a willow tree, and plasters over the screen. media machines WHO PRODUCE MY BABEYS IN A METAL MOUTH. 

the living body is escaping fromt he far reaches, the living body is evicted from oblivion, from being un-done, from being unmade it is liberated. the body escaped and it was sexualized. the clear-lacquer (neon imprint on the inner surface of your mouth)— they slip among u in the mediated worlds. the grand silicon valley (stanford SSRI, Berkley, Toronto, cambridge, MIT, UCLA, harvard) slipped thru the cracks— has bright h e a t e d lines & wres i can slip in and puncture, that enter me— I wanna sexualize it. i like the bright reflective skin of artificial windows on the animated girls— i like how u can almost see urself in it. i like the shininess of the human reflection— the bare light that rises like a mist off the skin of my angels. (sloly quake the orange light comes thru, the rain is drawn down the tiny squares, left open to the wind; the mainy nosepointed shapes in unison dance the shape of an unknown continent. divots of redaction of the rain in metal wires— impossibl. laughter like a conniving, coaxing ghost. how many dumb windows behind computer screens?) the animal body is living now and its sexual-surfaces invite the lonely. 

. a mute sunbeam. 

in th slovenly passagecurves

of ur eyes. 


since she was little she’d been watching advertisements. reaching out to touch replicas of peopl, who’d offer their visible love— (anterior insula, anterior cingulate cortex, somatosenory cortex) binding attachment and prosocial motivation to a picture of herself— seeing herself as what she sees— becoming her without trying. The neural empathetic substrate pitting her as those people, inside their fake lives and inside their (sitcom neighborhood dark along the highway)  houses and cars and fake clothes and their fake shoes inside masks of makeup— before she can even think (Acne-free, Now you’re ready for your close-up®) the connection is made & oxytocin is flooding as she puts on a new dress and discovers she fits— she’s become the latent picture hiding. for a moment she’s found the point of intersection thru which she would appear to Everyone, assuaged the dark alternative. All happening passively, pre-attentively, without thought, without reflection, firing the synapses, limbic, molding, moving; she becomes it. wasn’t anything before but genes and unattributed flesh, incumbent, producing a neural substrate satisfied only by imitating— she unconsciously mimics their expressions— shows her friends, encodes positive reactions. she musters the image, and is thereby flooded with memories of other positive moments, coding association. perform, feel good— Plastic associations w/ image-ads. my face fucked-up with movie stars, BE THAT— brand names as necessary step. in my sleep i hear them, and associations (make me feel good when i got gut surgery) in lateral post central gyrus within the parietal lobe— making me an avatar. an emblem for you. my cunt fer u? she’d watched things at an impressionable age. feel empty or like an actor. my experience of my OWN BODY are TRACKING, TRAINING DEFINITION.   

Front/rear camera, stereoscopic camera, autosterescopic integration, proprioceptive haptic feedback, head-tracking virtual reality, eye-detection, motion sensor, artificially intelligent vocal recognition, skin-temperature, internet connection with my branded avatar, facial analysis, celebrity endorsement, covert advertising, product placement, and wearing all the latest and COOLEST STUFFQ!!!!!!!! hahahaah mine has the new Lulu Lemon! hahaha OMG we look good! hahaha our friendggrouped avatars (in advertising game enjoyed between entertainment contents) hi five eachother and sit down for 15 seconds at Taco Bell Restaurant, drink branded soda, i take off my bra, we all have fun! my car looks great rugged offroading, get fucked in Hondas, Fords. our avatars make love like incest of the split-conciousness.  In a flash of CG confetti i smile-and-sit plop— exhausted after working out at gym or hanging with friends!  to enjoy on demand servicing myself to another episode. MY VR HAS VIBRATING GLASS BEADS, an auto-asyphyxiator in Nuvant Black, and Other Friends bring in Doritos Flavor!!! and TACTILE-FLESH-ABANDON Physical Warmth Pneumatic feeling ahhaah and I cant believe how beautiful the stars are!™ stereophonic speaker inset 3-D curved stereoscopic display glass light source flashing in tandem with my 5.5 mHZ brain waves under Bubbling Hotel Sauna Water convincing my body i'm in motion having the time of my life at Rides of Blockbuster Movies, or in high-end resorts in Deposed Exotic parts of the Empire, where dark skinned people in white clothing bring us colored drinks… 

The mall is open for me on an auto-installment-plan. i stroll the graphical promenade picking up ‘Cash. in these hallucinations, without pain, i’d be abnegated much like if i were taking shots in a ward. i’m genuinely afraid that if i pull off this mask there’ll b nothing left cuz its UNDOABLE INSIDE cuz they made you, set the substrates in flesh. gently introduced sometime long before u can remember alongside the funnies on tv and computer, a fun game, or between classes, late at night, in the car, on my couch, or my room in my hand anywhere i imitate lights, sounds, color, and burgeoning associations form in visuo-hippocampal-amygdala pathways and graft my sense of connection and emotional fulfillment onto projections of twisted nematic liquid crystal nd electrode glass. onto plastic and configurations of hues and pixels made to activate meaningful associations & thrown away, meant to be thrown away, forgotten \]]

        you are the baby born inside the somabody of representation. you’re made in actorbodies, children more, interested in everything that many people are likely to see, susceptible to brand names colored happy Associations w/ You & Your Interests. folded me like a plant around artificial light… she thinks shes moving inside video games, you watch other cute animals (predecessors to the internet’s nameless time wasting conduit of more ads) make me want to eat configured sugar, get type-1 diabetes, need surgery, no insurance, bite it; sad online after im dead i’m murdering people in dreams of videogames and it feels liek me! i want to be cool like pple w 10,000,000,000,001 funny videos… 

the more i put-on the more i entertained and acceded aquiesced acclimated and acculturated the more, the more an empty fraud i felt, the more i wanted to become the inoffensive flesh-double of the ad everyone sees; u just want to be latent-and-familiar before u meet any1. to the point that, in your deepest heart, u can slide into the media slipstream and no one notices— hide behind the massive glowing interior faces of the Big Store— choosing when and how you are seen, and controlling every aspect of your represenation’s appearance to others. the immediate undersurface of a globalized movie, a fabulous VR romance. 

memories are reconstructions of abstractions of fictional events consumed next to people— you were repeatedly conditioned on each contact, remembrance, reappearance—  STORED in the endless silos distributed.  names stuck in a false paradise, but eye didnt go all the way thru…  the frontentd, just the UI… i mean, no one will notice the difference right? umhmm.. idunngkno it feels… i. i— count your breathing, count all the surfaces in the room on your hand-- this isn’t me this isn’t me this isnt me… ono I will NOT look … 


  they put forth the lowest amount of effort required to get your attention and apply brand name to your camera-eye, the least amount of emotional content to trigger co-adjacent coding. things are made to get sold.  

Ur low-watt eye sparkler candy. a million histories so you can believe in something awful that looks good rather than feel real but not famous. fame for the other 3 billion. look’d inside of everything burning, metabolizing, every cell a combustion engine, like riverbed treeshoots.

in burning etherial room, harshly lit agianst the arches and began: darkness gives me a place to form in safety, but light come out of the screen (in the snow walking under covenant haloes_3) then everything is backlit and only im dark so my outline is clear and unbroken. in a black box outside of time-passing where u see their vain approved_spectacle stories unwinding pointlessly.

you stand up to marvel at the tall brite ghosts; hi-def blow-up to 1,000 cold buildings swaying in tenderly desolate bricked ends-of-world bombouts shivering in the emptyskyline, beyond: the empty sentience of the sea. children are asked to take off their shoes




John and Dan brought the TV back out to their car, an old brown sedan with tinted side-mirrors pretty low to the ground, prone to scraping over yellow speedbumps and cruising beneath slopey telephone wires by piles of gravel. they drove by the gravel pit under the great arcs, which were buzzing perennially and humming in the dusk like they were a priest’s buzzers latent for the insect night of all our consumption. 

in his detective’s blazer and brown shoes, when we finally got there we marked the spot and ran out an extension cord. they hooked it up to an outlet in the nearby church parkinglot streetlamp and conducted a government approximation of prayer, (this was 6 or 7 blocks from annie’s house on Winnetka Rd) “ok here goes:”

—SNAP… BLLLOOOOOOOIIIIHNNNKKSS— and the screen faded up in very desaturated semicolor in the haziest fuzziest faintest scanlines was the grainy and blurred form of a body, probably a girl, in a small room with a window and some curtains. 

“JOHN, JOHN, JOHN!” he clutches his arm and shakes all over,

“Easy baby.” *

*just then the TV turned on with the image of two detectives, in brown suits, staring, one is surprised all of a sudden recognizing something and starts waving his arms and slapping the man beside him jumping on his arm. they’re mouthing something frantically at her, the TV is muted though— 

ghosts of the ad-baby flooded with blood were lingering in her mind and dancing on their solly-feet twirling

all around-her-bedside and her sheets are made of plastic and cold cold she watches the projecter go and go with pictures of her dead babies allllllll

the time all the good memories splayed and stretched whiles she’s dissected on this metal bed filled with ants and rotting in hospice staring out the window 

with nothing but a disconnected rattling tree branch probly not attached to anything but only its shadow int he green shimmer and sworl figuring like a fall day of avarice 

itself fogged and replaced with itself shadowy green haze replicated— 

THAT IS MY, MY BABY ISSUS MY OH MY SWEETEST MY BABY IS MY BABY HAVE TO— OH OH OH OH OH, OH NO NO NO, OH NO! all her mirrored babies de-surfacing and mutely melting instantaneously infinite ever-repeating 

they can make out thru the distorted rolls and tricolor scanning the image of her somatoform ululation and  some kind of room with some floral drapes and a door.

“God bless that little lamb.” Wallace said with his upper lip curled up in sympathy.

“Don’t worry, were coming to help.”

“She cant hear you john.”

and then AdBaby came on to their great relief.

What a funny silly baby. sponsor fathers from time immemorial took care of this perfect baby;

and instilled it with professional and personal values that should befit men of their class upbringing, and such a shiny baby— soon John and Dan are rolling on their backs in the gravel, 



with faces contorted to an uncomfortable anus, eyes shut tight, wheezing,


on the static screen with dirty streetlight on it, oranged under the creeping falldown, AdBaby sat on a hardwood floor, apparently viewed by a handheld camera, with a ‘Coke branded hat falling over his eyes. 




John is wiping the dusty tears away from his eyes.

“Well… wha- whaHAHUCK… thaah— that didn’t work... uh. urhgm… I kind of want to go shopping.”

   in minutes they were back in their car, TV still glowing blue— giving eachother furious grey-dusty handjobs out of their unzipped dark brown slacks, undone leather belts, sweating to their shoes, and grunting, pulling at (dan’s was a little darker) their cocks and archbacking on the lowered wet leather seats, with just the light from the fold-down mirror, and from the blue multicolor (like a plastic overlay) of the rearview seen them writhe in yellowy ecstasy with the (see the willow?) waving out the back window. And John’s glasses have fallen over his mouth while he clenches the upholstery, grimacing disgustely, until he nuts into Dan’s collar… and falls slack in his seat. 

The two of them heaving in the humid interior or cadillac glazed-orange-sun buzzling in glass blues dancing on their shirts, eyes shone, and breathing, last drips of silver into the crotches of their pants. 



“Whats our play now, babe?”

“Um” wiping the fog from his glasses, “there’s not realistically enough in our budget to hire an intern.”

 He talks breathily with his lips curling out, painting his eyes, blushing his cheeks. he takes his gun off the dashboard and holsters it over the seatback. 

“Well we have to get her map. We map the TV schedule as best we can and acquire her place fields and see if we can’t connect it to the broadband. This spot wasn’t obviously on that goodav intel. not enough anyway.”

“WELL. That sounds really smart. You are smert. Good job Daniel.”

“You think of something.” He gets out his keys. He pulls the ignition zooms off the gravel shoulder, pulling the extension violently taut and ripping the cord out of the socket. the car took off like a low flat shark in a brown suit. speeding in the dark, his pants stifling on thick leg hair, cramped, dan is putting on mascara in the mirror.

“Slut.” he said happily, glancing from the steering wheel. Tall trees tear by lit up white for brief intervals as they fly thru ravines and muddy lagoons. the sounds came w low noise garbled by the tiretreads, It wailed for a second perceptibly.

“whashi…”— he listened closer.


dan jumped out and dashed to the back,

“Open the trunk!…ho god.” 


“its crying!!” 

john steps beneath the wavng monster blu trees, sticks cracking in the wind while the birds slept.

“O SHIT. Theres a deer!” a deer sprinted into the wood with one bound. He can hear him now above the engine idle.

“Oh my babe!”

“Oh my sweet thing please be quiet now.”

    on the screen the Baby lay on a kitchen floor under the gaze of a wobbly tape camera held at adult chest height. one of those dog-fences separated it from the next dark room, from where u heard the noise and saw the vacillating blue and white and grey colors of a TV. AdBaby now had on an understated Ralph Lauren patchwork cottonwool cardigan w a pastel-colored figure of a man skiing in a long hat over the breast ($105), and now a pair of Kenneth Cole Reaction 'Barton' Suede Derby Shoes in white (Baby, Walker, Toddler, Little Kid & Big Kid, for $95), and Seersucker Casual Woodsman Shorts, ($85), from which two milky chubby legs extruded, kicking thunderously, knocking the plastic blocks across the tile floor: “PURCHASE”

A dialogue comes up, “$285, ARE YOU SURE?” John smashes the “BUY” button and sprained his thumb, fell back limp, rubbing his hand. 

The AdBaby became quiet.

When he had fallen back asleep they placed him carefully in the trunk and drove to Annie’s old house. 


   I think i fell asleep onmy phone— and iwse able to relive this memory of am old man in a park. he had that hat on, and all youd see was a big shelly coat 

 and naked into the hot tub under the small petals of snowflakes a man walked up menacingly in a oily coat, seemingly out of a windowpane, he peered out from behind the corner of the woodshed, said “you’ve got a minute?” he took a gun out of his pocket with a barrel like a sewage pipe… he glared at me from sunglasses. i looked at his gun. he mouthed to me: Thai restaurant. ordered me soup, TV playing. hes talking to me in that droning nasally low monotone likea a whiny old engine— boy was he  frail… shadowed me down bending over in a long dark shaft cutting diagonol accross the floor while his lips seemed to give a dull whistle when he breathes or walks fast… took me by surprise when the cashmere scarf come wind rushing thru suburban train station, as it did, drew the gun long and stern while trains passed and kissed beneath bridges. howl faded back into the echoing ravine underpasses & slid back into his pocket. (like freight cars passing regularly thru hospital room (i was watchng them pass like—).. he’d offered me assets in his pocket: had for sale cheap: lakefront, but they just faded 

  [sounds of an asian language speaking restaurant fade in]

stirring the cheap black tea with milk in it, 

“the thing about this darn old economy is that you’ve got to feed it, without nourishment, its gonna die, just like you or…anyone would. and we do have many responsibilities. people need incentives, you understand. Your image is the most valuable part of you; it is the only thing from which you are provably constructed. and it also the only thing thats infinitely reproducible. You can be a media sensation of many surfaces, in incessantly fracturing reiterations of your delimited and dissociable salient visual features. You spin the firework in any moment, it "catches on", sure, viral. hucrck— annie. We’ll need your pictures. Not just your recent ones. We need the old pictures. all of them. A lot of boys are going to look. memory flood all senses, sound smells touches emotions. On demand. a formula then for the reintegration of experience. for the triggering of desired assemblies of neurons. he shows annue the codes, hes got all them places backed up on a drive transmitted thro his goldplated 4µm as he nears her neck.

“They won’t do anything else. look at your skin… See themselves in reflection.   thats a service to people. or servicing them. You are the only one, so give me the pictures and people will laugh with you and it’ll all be very sexy and adorable. ahah-hah. furry cock and semen, ha-ha, for whoever likes it. we don’t judge: we identify markets. whatever they need into banner-ad, interstitial ad, native ad, And so on forever happy, enclosed, alone, taken care of. individual desire cultivated, stimulated, and serviced. All perfect products provided in perpe-tchuit-ee. impossibly fine displays, crystal ash blown on the sides of your ruined house, watch all memories flow, even your parent’s— you won’t need them… experience will be provided. It’ll come on slow, sure: little things will go. Windshields, kitchen tables, and the obvious ones. vanities, bedroomdoors, windows, ceilings, mirrors, clothing, (behind my eyes) leaves, sidewalks, and of course above your head at night. these screens are two-way viewing, obviously.” he simulates smiling,  

“invisible pixel.. it needs the screen on the transparent implant— to let them go anywhere…  people get situated then we clean up… but right now we need the pictures” He’s wiping off his glasses and as his fingers move her eyesight wipes away, “to source the A-N-Ns“. rain lights under the awning, an intersection in Glencoe, Catholichurch, school, shop windows under rain. (“this is you born in a departmentstore, looking out the gloomy gel windows. jeans and sweaters lying in… refracted starlight— streetlights on fake wood tables,”) “needs a body-referent— you understand...  your nonactor, non-celebrity status makes you per-fectly authentic and relatable. you’ve got a funny smile and a funny laugh and also cute and sexy and wise and innocent and mature. You can understand and Relate to All People. you’ll get to travel the world trillions of times, to every nighttime street and surreal rural road and forest footpath and alleyway and every inch of the earth thus far mapped, but remain essentially undifferentiated… and you’d get to live in everyone’s pocket, where its warm and painless....” indicating his coat. he leans in with mottled skin, like wet concrete, and vericose blue veins under miles of wrinkles. “We’ll need your pictures Annie. yur face in a yawning colorful stream… . we know you like to take pictures. every time get to a picture with dad in front of the disney castle. or in the hospital. You were a very cute girl.  you surely want to be seen.

dont smirk at me… been waiting for the right One to notice?” his eyebrows raise. “haghhh. You can become the pirgh-fect human image. and live in everyone’s pocket: its safe, its innately secure, harmless…. We’re building-for-Billions” he drably intones, setting off a scripted event as he stands up, wheezes, and runs a closed hand down a sleeve. 

“hold still” she stands up, the blood rushes. [sounds of an asian language speaking restaurant fade out]

Wake up in enourmous room. “…high Edgerank over time decay, solid affinity, social diffusal loading…  Transcription… loaded…  sound is everywhere, all the surface of her skin tactile simulation. on her body theres pink, blue, purple, 3D animated isomorphic sex in beautifully rendered surfaces on her soft, rearranging shimmery-body surface; neon, voice flexible, his voice was placeless, “localize sound objects… hello? Enjoying yourself? take a look!” Her breasts were inflating, changing color, glowing. bpdy parts appearing and dissappearing in her skin like a loose bag of slowly rebounding liquid silicon slushing reverberantly like you jumped and kept-on moving in a broken washing machine , or halo jump glitch.  “We’ve been noting social scores, running EdgeRank on length and breadth of demographics: judging fitness for World-Salience. That was us annie, looking back. looking for you, for the like-display of every screen… ever since—“…How did I get here?" 

(“this is the room watching you turn grey and sky blue, seen like thru a tunnel of water, you stood in the doorway, all these people are cartoon characters, floating over all those invisibl countries and invisible cities that glow in waterdrops, dripping into the bleeding heart of america, past listless boundaries like broken fences, sinewed trash, nd i slept in shrubs, underbridges, and tracks by freightcar and lumbermill, but its not that fun, and a bit cold too, to be nowhere and be anyywhere at the same time. The parameter whatever others may identify with you. will be in less time than it takes load a screen, to match the viewers.  “we need an emblem. we will need  access to your memories.. ” he holds his phone w black fingernails, sluffing disinterested glaze eyes off passing cars, like he’s dissecting a grey squid. 

“we need a vessel, a basin, fill like rain. become anyone if you want… annie you are welcome to become anyone… but we need every moment  from here on out. looking back to a script she can’t see: attention is labor. some trends are being pursued to increase labor flexibility. we have a program that can make you be watched forever in real-time*. all attention on you, itll just recquire a slight... transduction… you’re lucky, y’see, no one else gets this choice. [blushes] your sister wont get to, we’d spare you most of what disintegrates or washes out into eventual white of sun-exposure— physical data, those are yours. but now, see, every discrete state, every bit picture is ours… and then— pop!” he throws up his hands with a cackling and mucousy cough and drops them like stones to the counter,  “ahugh-haha…  you’re the star, Annie!  (this is the room watching you: every visible surface evocative for split-second romances, financial news); there’ll never be a dull moment, and we’ll whisk you a-round... just EAT YOURSELF EAT YOURSELF EAT YOURSELF YOU WORTHLESS CUNT!” 

a tired-looking woman in a polo with mickey mouse emblem sewed on the breast pocket dismounts her camera and hands him a clear Coin. The blood is coming to my head, qestion annseer— this is my char in th rom th new me was made in

theres stars in my eyes, and everything else is grey. we’re at the table again. he is still talking.

“You can understand and Relate to All People. make decisions for them without even thinking about it. you’ll get to travel the world trillions of times, to every nighttime street and surreal rural road and forest footpath and alleyway and every inch of the earth thus far mapped, but remain essentially undifferentiated… I pull & twist your camera huck hugh hurk… strings of sun-glinting glue. must’ve judged you smarter than this, look at you, you look like a deer. and where’d you be without me? unknown stupid? better watch for cars… now you need to consolidate. One AI Profile for the next billion. we can have you wrapped in glass every inch, project movies in your skin from personalization sex seed. and everyone wants to see his face in the reflection off your round, perfect ass. I won’t exhaust the subject.” 

when he reaches to touch me again I bolt— knock the silverware to the floor and flew into the intersection under descending snow, green and red in the christmas lights. and hustled down a black street. I looked in my pocket. Alstair was in my pocket, quick-expanding-and-contracting back steaming out a little puff of vapor. My other pocket was filled with jawbreakers. I flew as fast as i could, shoes wet, i could see the wavering horizon smudge past all that wind and scattered heat of reflections on storefronts, houses and front yards and christmastrees sworling together through the dense cold. I could see a forest stood promising and green. 

got to go quick and get to California.

 i reflexively slashed away a pop-up on my lock screen while i chek the time

i didn’t read it until later when i was trying to piece this back together

“a few functions that appear from one point of view to be mere details, to occupy low levels in the over-all system, are seen from another point of view to be both basic and ubiquitous. One of these functions that looks like a technical detail from one standpoint and like some- thing very basic and general from another is the encoding of elements of information for storage in a digital mem- ory. The instructions of encoding information are themselves encoded as information with their own instructions. Let us, for the purposes of this discussion, adopt the point of view from which that seems important.” 


around noon John and Dan were lying on the couch at her house, with the TV, and they were fucking so hard that Dan had john behind him, lying on their sides, and john held his shoulder on the right side for leverage to force his hips— creaking the ceiling, gasping all sweaty, and so itchy from the pet hair on it, with the TV playing some weird old movie with men speaking japanese. John tensed up and started wrenching his hips faster, his abs aching, when just then a bunch of mail catalogues drop through the brass slot and bang on the floor: WELL, John shot up fast n’ bolt up the stairs before the parcel even hit the floor. about to jump the upstairs window, the two of them bewildered and dan kinda irritated and wincing, when they hear the sound of a motorcade of engines choking off and the door flies open and theres Don Mellonkamp with his face full of sudden sweat and ardor, stashing his belly in the door, his fat chin jiggling, firehose over shoulder, guns rattling at his hips, spurs tingling, belt straining, “HWA— WHERRRE IS MY DAUGTER YOU FAIRY FREELOADERRRS?”

John just then jumps behind the TV and starts fussing with cables,

“we’re— we’ve been working on it mr.. Mr. mellonkamp sir! Dan’s been mapping the house we just need to—“

“wha-wha uhm we-we’re making a consolidation of maps with the computer and the television and her mobile data we got through prism and trying to find the correlated substrate… she…”

“we’ve been running into some problems”

“we’re having a hard time— we don’t, usually when we know this much about a person we are able to get somewhere by now”

“Don haunches back, “what— is it a question of access? I can get you more”

“no no I mean we, she’s put out plenty, its just”

John cuts him off, 

 “well we could need to know where she fucked so we have to fuck in this house. its—”



“We need to know where she’s fucke— we need to fuck where she fucks if—“


face turns down and starts batting eyelashes animately, “puh-leaze remind her that i’m her only one daddy and i love her and miss her very much and i want her to come home, will ya?” his pale grey blue eyes flip like whips. After a few seconds john blinks and sniffs affirmatively. Don realizes in a moment of dissonance that he, and in a way, his face, and personality, were up on tip toes, making the biggest impression he could make. he sets back to his heels.

“gentlemen, now you have the TV with the…” his eyebrows go up.

“yeah, yeah.”

“and you’ve been…”

“—no, yeah, updating it every few days or so”

“good.” he looks outside for a few seconds. “remember thats just a contingency. you know better safe than sorry in case we don’t” his eyes go blank, “in case we can’t find her… and you’ll know how to upload it for me?”

“for sure, Don. Whatever we find we’ll load it.”

“good. Now:… go to her room! hahahaha, now stop with the cigarrettes, and don’t ever let me catch you cats not working!” he winks.

he slammed the door. john and dan looked out at the men on the driveway, looking at their slick-blackhaired bodies. spitting, itching, revving up their harleys, they rode after Don in an unbelievably loud procession accross the street to Amazon’s Whole Foods. In the vacuum of silence, the afternoon welled with birdsong.

“…He’s not as fat as I thought he’d be.”

“Lemme light that roach back up… you want anything to eat?”

John wiped the lubricant off of himself and slung up his pants, standing with barechest, stony jawed, strong build, like he was a little cockeyed staring out the window all fogged and distant.

“…Its been five days, we’ve been in every room in this house. I don’t know if anythings gonna turn up.”

“We haven’t dropped yet.”

“Cops can’t, John. you know it. i know it. It just. We can’t. It goes against everything.”



heres the part about walking around antioch getting the place impression or possibly just doing it on a single maps-APP integrated for law enforcement \\\\\\\\\\////////////

here he is walking around antioch on google maps w the lidar phone and headset watching the map beome rife w information, along a timeline of annie’s past GPS history of most-frequent activity, and scatting along the dotted blue line off onto angular shapes of green, w names on them, passing through iterations of the same space in different game-versions, and different vectors, a polygonal-sattelite composite, and combined 11-eye and infrared pointcloud, where street signs are popping into percipiancy; other pedestrians had giant  heads, w icons above, and stores had these blue outlines around them, indicating prices… try to tell where she’s going by first knowing where she’s been, or… what she’s been… 


annie sat under a tree, writing in her journal.

  you stay the same and we embody eachothers million different characters just to stick around. estranged from ur body to get that far. i guess i could still love u when i fade to insignificane. thats best, when u turn to light glass and dissappear inside me as a vacant neural-celestial pattern, one which recombines— thadda be ok too becaus if i ever meet you again we’ll know eachother. or if u were really so great id hav a flashbulb bright once ever now and when i see u in a dream.   that all fine. i love u just the same if u became something else— because if i werent meant to i wouldn’n if i was i did. it really dont matter cause its a continual-stream which u enter or leave. ur not a memory or a profile or a picture or a saved video or anithin ur alive… ill love anybody tho maybe… 

looseing my grip a bit i looked up with the  ashen oak (annie blonde hair was blurry and partially opaque glowing and soft at edges) alie was panting hot. she’s pulled over in dirt under canopy. 

“howm we get here alie?” zipping her jeans.

march diamonds bumble in the rainwater. Let go of the thought that others exist for your sake, and u can serve anybody.  everything i think needs to be …. final and it makes thinking, just being by myself, into an endless failure.  Annie whispers,"Care for me lord out of bein sick sometimes. I cant stand it lookm tryng to do best." 

tonight I camp next to the South Platte river in Colorado. Big arid green weeds kinda whitish and dry medusa-heads teacolored on the ground. Sitting under a cottonwood, took off shoes. stole a bottle of green bourbon from a store back in northfield. Now drunk under stars inside her sleepingbag beside a big heavy tree. 

“O hey.” His little nose turning back-and-forth. He sits on the indent of her frail chest, panting. cuddles up bobbing with breath.

“Goodnight jim-bob.” She kisses his white back. writes in her notebook, speedy longhand scribble fanatically, as she starts to get drunk. 


Chapter 5

place cell activity in the rodent hippo- campus serves as an internal model of external space. Hippocampal neurons  (place cells1,2) fire in particular environments where the rat travels— as cell sequences specific to certain external places once their features are sensed. The cell sequences that represent particular places in the world, are thought to be formed during new spatial exploration, and then re-fired (re-played) during sleep and committed to long-term memory, 11,12, , creating a neural repetoire of known places, in the form of latent cellular firing combinations.

Scientists have observed on many occasions though,  that cell sequences for specific places have activated in rats during sleep before the new experience had taken place. They called it preplay. New experiences seem to ‘select’ a from a preconfigured set  of dreamed sequences (Dragoi, Tonegawa, 2013) , and the two rapidly bind together provided that they are similar to eachother ( Gómez-Ocádiz, Trippa, 2022). The pre-configured sequences of cell firings, that create the subjective experienec of being somewhere in dreams, form the neurological basis of recognizing new places the rats never been, that are similar. An experiment on rats found new places matched to preconfigured maps 6-7% of the time, as if the experience of new locations are, partly, remembered before they ever happen. 

 (Dragoi, Tonegawa, 2011; 2013)

An email passed straight into a spam forlder



““by the year 2000, information and knowledge may be as important as mobility… On a good wall map, one can see the general features of a continent from the middle of the room. In order to examine the boundaries of countries or states, it is necessary only to step a little closer. From a normal reading distance, the names of cities and towns can be made out and the courses of rivers can be followed. It is interesting to extrapolate to very high resolution and dynamic presentation. If display capabilities should in- crease as rapidly as memory capabilities, one may some- day watch a display on a very large wall, examine the weather situation in the Midwest, and then with a mag- nifying glass follow the movement of an individual auto- mobile from Chicago to san francisco, reading the names of the streets and highways along which it moves,  It seems to us that there is some merit in trying to develop such large-scale, high-resolution dynamic displays for group- computer interaction,”


The sun inverts the moon. [sounds of a long country drive fade in]

SO i am awake.

(wut hey were in it in the reason why dem sepreations had to take place is nobodys fault); Annies’ driving from Chicago, in a red car with the sun screaming in your hair, o LOVE you o myannie, burning, pushing downward, 55 between indiana and illinois on the way out of the city; only she’s going 105 threading between cars and stoned stoned stoned mannalive that wind plus the sunlight from breath in that swarming gold, tase like, b’god, FREEDOM, or, no, (so this isn’t crazy, and I don’t have to tell myself its not crazy because i KNOW its not crazy— that is, (because i know i have been thinking a lot of crazy stuff lately) its not because its all implicit in this feeling— why i’d feel like this now, knowing this, righteous anger but also lifted up in this carseat like i’m hovering just above the seat but also propelled forward & rise above this car on another trajectory, sit down, rooted too bcuzza whaddi gotta DO! I feel crazy like i feel i have something  to do on this earth(?) who said i’m 20 years old and can’t have something on this earth i’m destined fir\\or— because i CARE about life. urrm. uhuh. erhm.) (lt’s like bright white sheet is so soft and rolling over my face but won’t touch me, it sifts through me just like golden grain & warm seeds down your arms protruding in my spirit prick’d up and flying with it the wind that comes thru that light, moving in that slowave, pulled apart on gentle riptide. Im deaftoned waif & solemn but contented and blissed-up to my ears because my spirits’ loosed and flirting with god and im consistently remembering dreams: shocked into them for a second moves to spark little flicks of swifts of cornfields (non-stop cornfields thru Iowa), + calm grass, diverging and re-convening via our common move, common slooth, sloom, moome, convergences— its a little like that feeling like a really deep stretch that pulls your spine out of the muscles holding it in u never can reach, pulled loose from common attachments, my regular body, thats like my whole body i move away from but not frightened this time because i’m not dreaming & not forcing it on myself, like i was shot thru a proton gun in twin slits in a doorway, i mean, i’d like to say its sexual but its really not anything like that um..)) counting the gorges under bridges where river flows before davenport, by the Illinois border, and again by Demoines, shuffling wetfootie beneath us just as easily could look up at the sky— concrete blocks w/ jagged edge and rusty pylon red beam like broken fingers desiccated & succumbing to the ebb of disintegration carries u allll the way to Louisiana if u wanted… why i feel theres some kind of propulsion to my life i don’t have to force or eek out anymore— i never felt like this except high school maybe it felt endless because it like there were nothing but possibilities justassoon as i could leave hme… WERE IT NOT SO… but whereigo whereigo whereigo annie annie annie hi i shhhhhh pls no shush my tad-eye pluss, pless, plsm, annie, i make-it-go, naow nouw, i go, slimmy-treetwisty forward up green spinsaway dark and green and shadey by a lighthouse— that crook at the base where the trunk explodes into branches, at tht crux, like, VAGINAL, or somefing huheuhe. hm. eeehh. ono i fart, i not allow’d) — (That thing is like when i call my sister on the phone and we twitch at the same time like wombbabies sailing in the back seat, weavey thru traffic, or when i say in a cafeteria “i love you” in my head and then someone briskly jerk up and leave with newspaper unnerarm; or u text me after 45 minutes and i see the speech bubble appear right when i look…) and where do u gotta go when U wnt to smash a tyrannical emblem? why, HOLLYWOOD CALIFORNIA! For the last voyage of its kind to the spiritual black-hole of the Nation, sucking the vain low basin from the 4 corners, all that black-back mirror pulling you, you, you, you, U, yu— YOU ! before it all finally fades away into obscurity & infinite obsolescence from multiplication of other medias ina fracturing explosion of interconnected mediums, u go to the source, U GO TO SMASSHIT UH ANNEI? U GETTIT?

 hiding low on the spine of the country like a wizard. america is a maze, walls keep getting put up until theres only one way out, but its not the way they designed it for. 

(Annie blonde hair was blurry and partially opaque glowing and soft at edges backed by bright orange spread out ball, struck magnifying on a thin curved surface--) Hushcalm of mangroves in florida. this sky a stark dome— grey smoke an whistling birds: TUNEIN AM AMMGO DUNNJON, am anngo LOOKSLIKE SECRET TREEBLOW AD COLORED MIST ORSNGE SUCKS IN TO IT NEEDLE AND TURNS HALFWAY BUE

________________________________________n log2 (US: anni94)=_____________________________

_n logarithm base2 (in the US past further proxies: username: anni94… loading…)


Once tehre was unicorn , there was no frends. they moop in the forest by alone. then went up in the castle where therh were robbers. Got lokced up. then they scaped.

ther was unicorm in house on big streat. it got a secret shiny hat bot from the store and put on. then it want woth friend into the forets to a castle and whent to ev ery room. the bigts room wahd a clost in it with pictures of my mom and dad. than got rober come wi big candel 

i closed the notebook and lay down in my sleepinbag. 




Annie looked up bleareyed, sat up and got naked and jumped in the river and sat down her bare ass in the silt and stared up at the sprawwling cottonwood arranging its blowy arms up unrepeatably. And come back to her car with all her luggage, dirt-sneakers, feet wet in socks (she’s got one of these rainbags that your sleeping bag goes in) to find two moussle-haired greasey mechanics standing aginst the wall w cigarrete ads on it at the station, appraising her red subaru stationwagon like two seagulls, itching their chins in greasy shortsleeve buttondowns— one with a coke bottlew no label. didn’t acknowledge her when she got in and rolled the window up: hair cold & wet against her neck sleek-lined like a porpoise with pearl neck in the cold blue sun to drawl over lowland colorado flats (dreary big denver silver street and those long stretch of snow asphalt and trucks sliding haphazerly off the road) the sun crawling up into the trees with sombre coldness, got a bottle-pop at a gas station. not much money for gas. the fatty flatlands get all shrubby and starts to wobble up higher and higher and turn into cacti and then mountains (and even later red mountains of utah), fluffy white grass, scrub and tundra. long passages alongside freight tracks. narrow ridges and falls of valley.

the locus of that movement—  


WENESDAY MORNING IN THE UNIVERSE 1/12/16 white street, grey truck tire imprints, spotted bedding the houses like tundra, brittle grasses— goldenrim clouds with shiver spine of airplane— sunrise thru the ponderosas— water containers looking

big nipples under a black shirt- and the snowed (cow) mount w/ crown of mist on either side of the vanishing end of the highway , further past signs of fast food, billboards for food items, the universe now appears

sunbeams lke eyelashes wink in a slit of grey sieves, expressed behind the body of the mountains tucked forminddable and stalwart, beyond septic tanks and water tower paint, giant drums— for an instant shows the birth and death of all things. hills, houses, industry traintrack of light, sidwalk noones on, the roadside intersection littered w neon puddles of snowmelt. supper places, tireshops, nobody in the cars. wood-boarded up awnings, trees curl turning the white lign, sign glittering, under a tunnel mirrored by snow, along rooftop, exemplified instantly, and there alongside as always is a series of stretching horses— white real horses droop necks, furlfences unwind— spire cliffs crooking sharp steep black into the sky, its muddytree-eye silver mouth north, (like skies over running trains) mountain nests, schoolbus coming, no passengers. freightcar bones whip up thru the forest, yellow flaky paint, i see the sun set in thru there, clipping branches, in a lightsieve of trees, branches twiddle and reveal blindly, mirrors, off my eyelid off a metal roof, my shirtcover, off the dashboard windshield and my fingernails, skin pale gold, on my cold face. the light retreated to the mountain’s neck. ( like times you sat in the snow and panted, gold and blue, heavy pants) “Don’t prostrate yrself trying to slope up that offwhite mountain by yourself noe y’hear?” i muttered that to myself in the slish of wet wheels.its all peeling and curving over the windshield, th universe refracting into my car bend-rolling. did u kno i’d really love you? spotted, golden in the rearview, w/bugeye of smoke and rain as all bluepuddles and mountain fogs go off the floor of the world. horses lay under wool blankets. lumber and drivers of trucks w great claws on thm that grab the timber. sleeping cows. inhale blue, mountains u walk to, fills u like so clean and untainted (even w the smell of gasoline and woodchips) (its just that its all so.. i mean, l like i know that i’ve been here before, i recognize myself.) 

i put Alstair up on the dashboard now and he was excitedly fitting himself into this whole situation. this whole part of the country, god, where do i fit? taking the more northern route (back into the locus forest-ridden nowheres, lighting up the modicum of the greater body of all places— memory i lived inside-of, and have repose in cuz i feel like im not a kissup to anyone or anything and not even paying any mind) and for one of these relaxed instants, with the wind coming in on her face cold through the window but carefree and baked, seeing a fresh silverpoint of light like she just let out a little joy cause its alright— for one of those rare times not caring about that reflective surface of her skin— (..or of what makes this whole trip into a learning experience or valuable i mean you’re gonna sell it out for dirt—) with cupped little claws to flaring nose, on plastic that has the texture of leather (OOOOOOOoo cutest boy) his eyes have that quality you could project-onto all you want and stay understood. She loves him but won’t ruin their relationship byprojecting— (a SCHOOBUS! ) soul like water. spotted-black on his husky back, a scuttle of soft pink feet, on a sharp turn fli3s into the passenger seat. he heaps himself now panting in the plush. i have been watching all these replays of self-arraigned selections of places populating th shuffled deck of my hippopotamus, and shelling out my blanked abstract. i didnt see the spirits in this landscape tho marked anwhere on Maps, nor was i gunna, and none of them could be recorded. moment-by-moment you can recall what you dreamed about: familiar to the precise second— like if you laid a sheet down on it and felt its contours, and you knew exactly what it was once but crossed a threshold and can’t remember— Lost downstream… sun blanketing all green-grey soft wavering scrub dotting the foot of the snow mountain, and crawling up its slope where its sparse, pale, dissected by the cold shadow of sundown, reminds you flaggingly of other instances. (and i feel, its all mine but doesn’t belong to me, all this… ) recognition of this place culled from degraded networks of places, flowing like water down broken dresses, and adhering to codifying memory— complete circuits flash and recombine. You’ll not need to remember if you experience it again— and thats memory anyway. The rush and reintegration of the cell-assembly (from daisychain reinvented places) brought out. and. brought. UP. roiling and recoiling in the allocentric map of your earth: even in the dark able to see it, maps selectively activate— an association so wide and deep, it stretches around the horizon… it is so basic and essential, so deeply involved with so much of your life that it rarely clips above noise, except in real stillness… but when it does: it contains so many places, feelings, and times u couldn’t possibly take account. old experiences reknown and made new, did you know the cell-phase of the entorhinal map will destabilize if you dont move? the longer you stay still, the less familiar the world gets. staring at the same walls, and they will become strangers to you.  

THATAS wheiy i couldt stand anything! im was out of place in my own house and skin. picture that youre at the ocean, and thers hundreds of buoys spread out on the water in a precise hexagonal grid, and you’re lying down flat on the sand, and you can only see the buoys when a wave comes through and pushes them up— and u see the wave go and get a picture of the spacing of the surface of the ocean when the waves push the buoys up… now a subsection of those buoys coordinated into pattern represents particular memory of place you once visited, at particular time, and not just homogenous flat ocean could be anywhere in the world. thats called place.

[sounds cars passing in snow, wind blowing] 

she drove silent empty peaceful for a long time… but after a while… as night drew something crawled over the back of her head and sat down. a collection of the faith of many (or several) is invisible to the individuals involved in it, but it may yet impact their lives. in fact i know it will. flying down this icy road, she was headed toward the birthplace of the human-conceived consolidation of memory and identity. to the people who made her. (at least made part of me, since i was just a touch too old) curling over the glass to the terminus and epicenter… she’d soon make contact and explode like a nailgun or suicide bomber; in her softness, gentleness, there was a declaiming weapon of incredible stopping power; she’d use it to strike at the center of —IDOLS..IDIOMS.. RAW FIGURES.. NERVOUS ICONS, ATTENTION, ARTIFICE, ARTIFACT, DISPLAY, COLLATED SHAME, AUTOCORRELATED BODY TO METRIC OF DIRECTIONALLY ORIENTED EFFLUENCE OF THE REVERSE GODHEAD, ALGORITHMICALLY APPROPRIATED IMAGE OF HUMANITY IN THE MASS BEAUTY INDEX: THE NEGATIVE STRIATUM AT THE BOTTOM OF THE PIT, THE PRIMARY REWARDS OF  BEAUTY AND MONEY, TERROR-LOVE— universal body. sOL.EY

“y formulated two-stage model of memory formation [26]. According to this model, memory formation occurs in two stages, the encod- ing stage and the consolidation stage.” 

the doctors stood and told her parents, at the Obstetrician’s office that their girl had an abnormal… narrowness. If she ever 

tried to porocreate, if life were to come from her, that there could be serious complications

perfect uncanny face cut off from bloodflow. seen through a screen the asymptote runs. kill the mask. stand in front of the  salesman and transmission beam. let all my atoms absorb and diffract the Symbol-FLOW of planet cock/cunt.cycles of birth so i gotta GOGOGOGOGOGOGO an do this b4 i forget or get old— b4 i get implicated myself or start hanging on to what i have— as long as i dont give a shit about myself i cant lose! So Los angeles and silicon valley were waiting: An industry of displayed bodies, rendered souls, lifes, lifestyles, and purposes in the basement of invention. filthy in the air as on the ground. sh4t thru w smog. LET THE LIGHT PASS THRU ME LIK VISIONS OF FACES ON THE PAPER THET RUNS TWIE MY FINGERS. AN MY SKIN ILLUMINE MY PAPERMASK MISSING ORGANS AN DEFEND THE GODESS DEMITINT HELOPTYP FLOUROGRAPHIC C-THRU FLASHLIGHTS THRU MY PLACENTA

like a photonegative icarus

—like the  family room CBS FOX @ 5 & 9 Tuesdays Unlimited

for future reference: the famly room and the game room are the same

the headroom is upstairs, also known as the Computer Room, or the Bedroom

where your head slips in darkness and drifts a-causally through gloom of eternal

 slow-drift of all human creation lost in void

[sounds of a thai restaurant fade out]


Chapter 6




out over there,

rain falls

distended cotton

paring mountains

btween them.

lake of submerged


Shards, hunch of mesa

Foray’ve golden lipid —laid

makes light, shoves birds   bone shards

under me— silent heaven

water disperse like universe

  and actually is. 

orange lichen

lopsided pill-Buoy.

Vigil coming for

bend hiway by bent

curvearm of the forbear.

2me eternal structures

mountains R spirit—

    stock of midair spit

blue blazon photograph

on typenegative atmosphere

a ladle of photogrammetry —photrigonomics, photopography

Ice-sore noons melted into this

lake which

 in was a 


   a knuckle 2

Seadown. an unmakable —sundown burnt sage


i pulled up to the motel round 613 p.m. and went into the office. but before that i sat on the hood of my car and smoked for a bit. watchng the trees spit out little fluttering birds. my room has a kweane bed. i got nekkid and laid on the floor for a bit. sunglas expands on outdoor scene. so much part-woken familiarity and love with them. cars go by wind shuffles the trees and shake gently all squares and softedged light shapes, birdsongs (i cant ever spot them), nd some1s tv going off in the other room bigcrowdraoars dubya-dubya-EEE and such thet saund spills under cartreads. only on good days r the passingcars waves. i love you but how coud i trust U? hmhmg. . Her phone vibrated on a glass table. shiws orange trees, post-cards in the lobby (whichs just a stucco room w a desk and one fish). The two people foddering over to me from their car, to grab silver key for my room. I dint ever smile but i wasn’t tryin tact mean oranything, i just don’t.. ....Sosi sigh got my key and brot my bag in. 

she got into the shower and masturbates listlessly on the floor of the tub, pulling showerhead so it falls over her face, looked at her pale-shallow breastbone under devout nose, huje belly, looked at her neck in the mirror— looked like a sick pear. she had pricklypear on her legs and shaves with a dull razor. her eyes sunken green in the sick hospital light— yellow under the wet-light of the wheatfield, (standing past irrigation like in italy with the stonewall house filled with taut vines everything sprawling to the sky bcuz no roof and the windowframes cracked stone all (TALL THORNS EVERYWHERE BLEEDING)) dries her ears, and wet down over her nose in the fogged mirror, stands without a towel for a second, her beveled cunt, well-cunt like a hermit crab (reformatting), and her bellybutton looking like it was filled in with concrete cuz it was shallow and such— one of the entry points for one of her childhood abdominal surgeries— other scars above the hips, below the ribcage— she sits down on the bed on top of a towel and waits. TV glaring bulb of reflection (why do I look, why is it important?) every advertisement-flicking-behind warp of real-world. makes my head twitch. a secret message locked-inside: (all outside cordoned .rendr secret message inside gold-glass, glissin green fetid vulgar amazon sex  — and toes curled in breasts and bellies biting and hair everywhere like a huge matted blanket,  over naked body, pube hair, arms and feet flying, fingers, a bellywhelp, eyehuge, disembodie dream dissosheation) pacing in her towel, and im a bit scrred anney, and all these people in here now, through the side open window: the television, things gnashed naked and howling out noise like blurred psycho-rolling and turning without getting around fully, twist-necking .outside the windows too with their long fingers, green-olive faces long curving over the frames casting big shadoes ) so just breathe: and proceds to count her breaths one by (one….2…..3…..4…..—345626— …1…2….3…4…. ) 

……………but closing your eyes doesn’t do you anuy good— if FIXED patterns and rhythms and forms that warp on the outside are just as plainly revealed in their obvious insistence, swarming prism thru which i ply objects, in nothing: i see the perturbed, tuneless provocations of base fear— she knows there aint nuthin but just a little, like, (i— i  k-n-o-w scary but i shuuuhshshshshhshouldn’t— formless annie beause its for today and not ever because its just a little muh shsshhshshh…) — againandagain SORRY… all together on a field incessantly pulling you insular closeness of distorrtion: corneal differaction aberrations:     keep your focus, sometimes, (i want to look, just to see where it’ll go) (noannie plz no u know no look. (at the curtains_)) (ok). (my head rly hrtsnow) i feel numb and… nothing funny. did i turned out the light yet? the room-is replaced by a fawning mystery and glows--silver, i sit yawning alone and sick and tired and bcome suddenly ignorant. struck suddenly by the rural neurons ‘i ‘was inn, neons, i put a blanket over my head and died.  i slept on my jeans even tho i wqas in a motel  i die. no— heheh. no i went to sleep. please let me SLEEP JUST LET ME SLEEP GOD WHAT DID I DO TO DESRVE THIS

hours pass in bed not sleeping. 

    i sat down to my plastic table, i picked up my phone from my bag.

words became clearer, suddenly i’m needed.  bricked in outside walls, lukewarm in darkness, sitting up, damp, writing furious waves onto digital paper.

“Mindlessly scrolling sequences of pictures, text, and audio is artificial intelligence. If you put yourself online, If you spend 14+ hours a day on phone or computer you are it already. It exists as you becus ur it. Every hour is you as computer intelligence: you are only input within a framework of predefined program inputs, Bound by a set of preprogrammed possibilities.

if the only objective evidence of your existence online— like the pixel surfeit of someones face and shoulders and their bedroom and their voice on a video…  then youre recognized through technology— only get seen to exist as technology (for 11/16= hours of their waking lives on screens), and the evidence by which you become decipherable as human, transduced, their expression and appearance on the screen is really not a human at all…  

if what i ever know of your existence is a video on a social page, this mimic, and all i physically actually come in to contact with is a device making me believe you’re on the other side, imitating the hues, saturations, colors, shapes, light-gradients which makeup a human face in a room, then i’ve been failing to tell people apart from artificial machines most of my life. 

how much of my life is consuming things that never existed externally? how much enters my senses isn’t actually there? And why would a computer, for some reason trying to convince you it was human— not do the easiest thing? we would not have to be specifically engineered down to the smallest hair and bead of sweat, that we sense in a million subtle preconscious ways: as soon as you look through a screen you forfeit all that. social media— the platform you most frequently use to communicate— is natively inhabited by advertising entities that pay for the platform— you’re a guest. As Shannon said, sending information in a medium, which is everything we do and can do online, is  “the transmission of intelligence”. You are intelligence in a machine. 

you are what you experience, what you become (flooding into synaptic channels, dendrite widening, weight assignation, resource-sharing, the conceptual ( _nodes_ ) are the same— you sort of are the internet: :::  your in-access and memory run  exogenously. as you are made by the time you spend and the time you waste, your intelligence becomes artificial. 

  welcome to a new world of Friends!… come view life through a pinhole—cuz thru here anything is just as likely real— everythings  immitation. welcome to the dollhouse. 

the feed is still you-as-center-of-the-universe, moving, and surrounding you, offering services, always, and click-ad, link, transfer funds w/ 1-touch, like (“the start location is retained, a cyclically organized map might be sufficient to signal location in environments of any size, and work equally well at the edges as in the center of the map”) its not arbitrary that, pertaining to your perception, you are in the center of every environment, because your brain makes it that way. 

This was physiological happenstance of tissue growth and evolution. (in  place cells, grid cells, head direction cells) you are constantly reorganizing mechanistically, unconsciously, world which literally enters from all around you, with a deck of card-combinations in your memory tissue, signifying your past lives in this one. a world that resets when you turn your head, and creates or reifies new universal horizons whenever you look in the distance [Dupret, O’Neill, Csicscari, Dynamic Reconfiguration of Hippocampal Interneuron Circuits during Spatial Learning, Neuron, 2013 ;  … ]. So its not unnatural that you should imagine you’re at the center, because your idiothetic (read: ‘idiot’) head says so, and that it must be true that you have some role to play, some native significance, in everything kid. but  well mabbe you do but it doesnt really matter any— i’yam

this physiological vanity (FOUND AND EXPLOITED BY ALL MASKS) is not hard to hold-up in a world of display, its wraps around you like massive curving glass dress from sony samsung logitech kodak panasonic or polaroid. you can, if you want, restrict your freedom of choice to the selection of comforts and pleasures & harmless self-deceits… it plays-on and relies-on your predisposition to self-centeredness by marketing to you specifically, YOU, Anna-lee Mellonkamp, your interests are rats, cats, birdcages and hipster pop songs, planes bears fruit and grassland. Your history. you* HISTORY. can be easilly fooled.  you  can be in glass. like apparently everybody will have be World famous///// u kno?— all your pretty girls are all models, and all your handsome males have con-t-racts with bodybuilding supplements, beer brands, HYPER media agencies, etc. No, so its really, REALLY EASY ANNIE. AND EVERYONE SEEMS TO BE DOING IT. EAT YOURSELF!  !!

“SO NO WATE I KNOW WHAT TO DO!” annie sprung away from her bed in a re-pulse, towel flying erelong to the moths in the window, and to the sleepy cars passing to whatever their misery— “i know! I KNOW…

“just sT0P ALL PRESENTATIONS— we need to STOP BEAUTIFUL AFFABLE CHARMING Or PERFECT PERSONALITIES FROM THE TV, just being pretty rich and white and all are supposed to act that out? and “my kid is on TV!” our biggest national export. b caught in-camera. “Celeb Cunt: Exposed!” i dont wanna see pretty people anymore! i dont want to see people anymore! i dont wanna see ANYTHING!! GOD JUST BLIND ME PLEAES. 

cameramen should b blindfoldid.  who else wants in the Unified United States Hollywood Grouppicture? the world gets smaller and everybody needs to be represented in it— y? so they can get their misnomer too?    

I DONT WANNA SEE all uniform smiling archetype to pose as the best-looking-version of Everyone. to perpetuate their conduit of continuance. 

WHY SHOULD I LOOK. all we’re doing is just killing time, in that great american pastime, scrollin around chuckling, wasted, wanted to b the DISPOSABLE prop over the vanishing point of our collective attentions. we live inside a of sifting, oscillating kaleidoscopic oceansurface of WASTE! never witnessed in ad images with their clean, open spaces, which litter our world, like online products, and, um— vanity has become as economically sensible as greed! they’re the same when you’re paid-per-view.   annie, with a thin lipped smile, accelerated the rythm of writing,

“PEOPLE waste most every hour of the day, becoming like, maybe, computer already, and… so if … your bodys a sense-hole for ad revenue, if they wanna keep the whole show moving, enters a STOP SUCKING MY SHIRT— … symbolic relationship by which people’s attention spans are sated, and actors simultaneously subserve and are desired by the public. thats why its popular, mass-viewed, inoffensive or ostentatiously inoffensive. fame is appeasement, abating dilution:  the requirement of celebrity is to stand still and appear, s-m-i-l-i-n-g, and STOP STOP STOP STOP —carry out the frivolities of a life now paid-for. ooooooOOOOOOO! america dream! hold yrself up and be valued! but u are what you watch— you wasted it 11 hours of every day like 400,000 years of video per month 251,000,000 tons of free choice trash wasted, like 60,651,000 tons of product packaging is thrown away, that american display medium, 36 million tons of food, 34 million tons of lawn cuttings wasted each year to keep us looking the part in trimmed houses, america-mirror and make the facile illusion of success, a picaresque display WASTE WASTE WASTED WASTED WASTED u thuRETARD FAT homegrowd midwestern girl gets $1 burgers that take 450 gallons of water each to make—  and use a quarter of our landmass thru wisconsin, illinois, iowa, nebraska fields of inedible corn to keep fast food artificially ‘affordable’  and everything else artificially expensive.  corn is in plastic that goes in backyards (dog yapping ur trashed 10AM)—and in your fuel tank; whydont 42 million hungry americans eat plastic and drink gas. fuck yourself and die in debt. die in the yards, but at least our garbage gets well-treated; cruising through ever-exotic, virgin landscapes. on fast forward ads just become subliminal. health is a matter of label aesthetic. “fat-free”, “gluten-free”, “0 trans fat”, “Reduced Fat” are reconfigured sugar. from 2008-10 food advertising increased 60% for children, who are 50% more likely to eat because of food ads. aware of increased conversion saliency.  keep heart disease the 1st killer of Americans. Diabetes 8th. .choose healthy-looking packages and eat dogshit. i can’t feed myself. i buy labels. AOW THEY MAED ME FAT AND I CANT B A STAR ANNEYMORE!? I JUST WANNA BE AON TEEV WUD SOME1 JUS KNOW IM sPECIAL JUS CUS im fat dunt mean im not beautiful….  


. . .

Slow come-up the sun in blu window, she heard the walls crack.

up and slither gentle into lowself, body of internalness, from all that angst.

  she fell back deep into her pillow (u can always fall back deeper : u’ve never laid down before.) pulled some radiance in a state of expansion. (manitous fly, liken-to mebbe sounding-out eternal, nfinite love, (inoculated at vast edges by MeanSky. i don’t perceive separation, and noinformation channels left. silent, wisping noise, (struts, chassis, arches, truncating—) And she knew not to seize up. 

cus to b frightened by the presence of spirits is tantamount to living in fear always…



 —if its ttru its troo in the world as anyways & always: not a ceptration wear ur having urself is counterma 2 being th. on bein it, continuous facilitation frum the captive waves; shrimp boats, fortune tellers, r u sick of me yet?

u dont matter ur not the center of the universe, its ment that way for some reason unno ikant remberit att this moment riete now buttiniflido il tell u about it. ow my eye hears, hurets, ini been sitting go too long oin my car and cant see the headlights bloomin heongoldmoufslickerway wresle th green oceans coned over the bent treetops nb lamposts n even  (yes even even ok Cell woers—)) measured by my Kam— pushup headlo blo ahh brh- maffeleated mumber’d light—  was tdrivin ut unarit, plowin lik the snowers, wellfor i dint know thwas th xecret. soose illeti t SLYD this: b’try mi oence agen anndi gat u LICKED… GOTTIT?!. uhhuh it dint matter i did see thos posters on th walll in my school classroom hallway before the doorway wher (TeddyLAuer got hung ou p by hit coathangGer by MRS Class!, rite in front of us oan to resess) 4thof all i donthink that thears eny room anemore for more people to be mean… they saydumm better to mask ur worrys in bigge-ier pieces of urself svelt-draped over cloud-outlines like dummer-dark & wet-apples… poison story crap… thoas alternate visions of echoes of repititions adinfinitutm hurrleded over dogcanyon n cross ferri mountains, flisglope grassways and alternote cosed Exit. the locked door locke out—crippled indoors in new york or beijing or rellway u have to stay urself alongside like rusted creaks of wastedn of the human face— that beltway tractor and the dead at the controls— metled on farms like and glannoslide from the sundows their waxy skin effeserent gloam off their faces in uderside masques 

 of Major Telephones: hamburger restaurant beside highway north of arcada

thasta jastas 2 say

,flyin over here metled in the none-else delve oaf fake markets and designer dreams, meted faithlessn stark designs eyeshadowing purpent of th bent up pent up kid likiwanna do somehtin real and dip-out for dank madness like shity bowside porthole headachk guys insted of beworsed business men dragging suit-cases full of emojis, emones— the scented pheramone spritzed fro M.I.T. wristwatches?  ? were u listenneing when i sid efore or u learn to quiet it all out wen u get wat u want—? iittatain like that bubbo u have to get aggfter watsrigt 2do, wats good 2do, feith is mostt inoirtnent— it requires u to LOOK— to OBTAIN to LET GO an to tkket frontedly at amoment stiked for rest of lyfe:frontedly at the mountain pass, treewhip anntha wire pas trunking up fires, dipping island lines, weaving into ano another, th railway glitterwhip metal and dogshit packages, trashes, boxear boxes, slush;;;; hide-ey, thos biff trees joop dancing (like an innocent dance done only once) to rest on tree’s back, mohill ridge. by the humboldt lagoon and elk ridge cresent city hwh 101 causes for being melted under grey skies w a gloom sun pushing like thru the smog. mooted mouf of  8 senses 5 mountains 4 wheels 3 mushers 2 eyes anden chicken sandwich.

thts of the menets, membnet, memb… mennet, membret— if— if the MOMENT is right, is it remembered? yeah yeah modulated inborne messages to include, to necessatate transfffer caus u were WATCHING!!an r 

god hides  a pea in the palm of nature


seen his face before

 (tourist_zone_ 1 :_) 

________________________________________n log2 (US: anni94* ∞)=_____________________________



CO S DIR IGNG like, iiiiiiiii doesnt l, i dont, i dont look like anyone i know— under METAL CANS DIRTY, i lick my hands then frum the, turnrrnrnrnnrnrnnrnnrnrnrrrnrring GREEN MOONEY heh under, yea, FLOURESECENT LITE UNDER SNOWSTORMS, huhuhuh, looki-like, TREMBLE VAGINA DISSONANT, ahhaha like under the tap redwater dripping downlouDoutside street walk new orleans like a stranger while i hum, MAROONED! drunk on the tapwater! clouds vaginal, but, can-it-like-stun-me-vacant, so i echo,,,,,,,,, marching like, dreamy under polyester doorway intermittent window opening, LIKE I LOOKED at all the Signs on TV but wait i wasn’t listening and really quite lonely. really sweating bullets looking out window like faces like trembling at tragic center

THIS SUMMER: teffy: well. i wonder if really dreaming last nite im always back in hi school. except

when older. and all these kids going up to me wondring what i’m up to now, i look at vem, looking like,

“dang kids. stUPID! AND” mellowlandrum, pulled out joint in gym stairway in hallway outside art

class, limplip. by thr drinkinfountan pit a tongue tab in, lookin at student art in the cubby-holes*, TRIPPING, floating an, an

hands and knees wonderring in a lovely window :P

dissonant /cunning/

the removed space of the hall like any old idea in a long

quotation, tripping, winding around

sides like long snakes.

 an i open the window all the

way ande poke out my rifle! looking at looking at 

sandshimemrtheundersideofthafoamlicklikedancinglumberyardcroakd tumble, in subway tunnel like: “yeah it fits” and outside on pendulum standing up straight the giants of rumbling trains took turns sodomizing, by shines like they dissappear above a certain height in a blur of red and orange, likeonbed or whatever, in room in NYC, on the ocean. i wish, trying of course to avoid conscription that i’m GAY THENNA WENT UPSTARS AND WATCHED A BIDEO IN YOUTUBE HAD I LAFUGH AND HAD GOAER TIM===FUNNY WASTHICNG! crying i was just like CRAZY funnee!!! looling at dog like, ฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅ 💦💦💦💦💦💦💦💦💦💦💦💦💦💦💦💦💦💦💦💦💦💦💦💦💦💦💦💦💦  truo iver its lef into the foop bole! dang cat go: mmmmmmmmm…… STINKY DOOGA, SLAPHITWAZ FSONNY LIKE SCHOOL I WDHOE SHOED IT TO TEDDEY! BUT DAG HAD lagh and com hOme to techer. likng lips. sed: jangoe: you have to go home. NAWO! AND I SEE A ANIMAL IN SOME PUERpuILE AND HARMLESS ENVIRONMENT — well i lurched on homme to my nacho elite taco bell dinner! hahha haahahahahah mom washing my dishes, like ahh, dand on the TV stand statue of librety, singing self, oooooooo seyyeyeyye caaaan nuuuuuuuuu seeeeeeeee! unroyllyin g anmerican flag frmi his cartrunk —in the prissm-TV-show—  and hugn on pole in front of house, the iron handrale all crrokid and slackedn wif the paint fcoming off.. donet tuch forblack paint splinner. my freands watch rom the sreesides of my room, frum the deadantscrall sidewalks, burning leaves, broken-leg crickets, laufhinnnggg!! [her face is all sick]. on the sahdeyside L-trane i took from my lefver coat and smoked a DIGGARETTE! in the weeds cool bysmeself and myfrend r0wan.

I FREEK OUT wen the cop come: come down from pafth, looking wight gflashilight— his dags riunnging at fter all slober and neeth not nice slike jgango, and bouner. his pointey hat weas waet uneder the drops fcoming from the hi branchtoosp fater the rain, like weet-face ailein he licked hi (cockwet comin out) LICKENAB BRADDO! YO SAVOY and tear me down to grond him, all clothing-wrinkle blue-pant and cuff-plus-belt and shoulder holster and suspernder and belt loop and equipment as radio ass allway !! if he no lenient and sunblazin hem (blowth WHOLE SUN SKY HI

 looking at me like (GREK HAUS IN THE DESERT) i was a monster thretening m  y MOM wwein his mouth)

and albgraby looking up my intrernate said arrest me for it and look in my comgruter and saed arrest me forit and even take my EDOWNDTOWN.1

i suk q that thing dery o me o

and la adogogn dragnel ai put imn y lips and sucked tool the white fliff ocut oaam my mouf,

or somfin, like grainy tase like i was watcieng Old Movie.

n finally i meet THEM in jale that  web-show on the little tiny ipad they get to watch inside the hollpwacst tube of terenfsgeremenr mists like lugibriganting my (look @ celseiing wallls) to make the time apass along. red.… red carlight shadows of windowblinds.. timing… timing. . .foreveron archives or reading from scripts. to see who, how to spend my day s in jale,… this gives me the Full Scupe on today prison, today’s most pain given, pained-caused, pain-causing (like outside the bots go boomng guns behind snowy falling statues, and i cant do a restart hiding in concrete, railing by munition boxes). Looking up inside of prison's  GUI:: Ten Trix to maximIZE occult  economy Alltime. 15,000,000,000 result. i look my own self iup in the prisen klibrary and actualy the foto turns off and bgoes black filled with dark specks of quik birds flyin by froam the littl afternoon. . . . 

(—MAn shadows over me, big hat, big belt, sey, “Come Wf Me Lil Lady” and trasnfer me to all-girl priseon in a northwest border town where theres nothing but a prison and bail bond stores and therer sines up that sey “NO TALKING TO PRISONERS”

  “200 DOLLAR FINE”  


           next to the jail that looms just like skinny windows of a big library…  bird-colored moons o’er the scene with their watchful bud-dog eyes tenderly know the sky blanket drop down in soff snow. i’m fmhpng.. . .. . when the birds  —? do tjey get wet? flying in the rain?)




sun goes down

over aMERICA, 

and all the heat lamps pop: and my uncle

phil goets arresting with his deadlamp in the

trukstop on I-90, dashing by police light,

licks the envelope and blows his front off,

i took a turn on the Nintentod and beat me

brotehr at Mario Kobng, which was eaasy. 

“The Martyrs Don’t Spectacle In America cuz Not Allowed TO Anymore”

was a poem i read in class, wif gongmarkredny lookin up at me wif a BOOFER

in his nose triple-staines jacket and leaflet w. gameboy cheats in the side poket,

mumbles to me like that he was too mbusy to play—

o i said, 



but i fink he tooked it the rong way and died. :(

Its naot allow in american that yur sposed to

die because they keep their picturers of you

locked up in the Anti-Room, undr that seat

u sit to take off your shoes, all ur passports,

pictures, movie rentals, gambox, handsome

photto, TOOK from ME becaus they fink im

un-importent.  (‘_ ‘ )  ( ; _ ;)

“read mme the new york times in the atick”

so Yes, I doo know hot to do that stuff,

becus I will die in america unsung bcuz u

watch and you find out. . . 

they will merter me wif

hot dogs

w dad at the BEARS game, with the parecheutes 

falling like candy-apples under hsopping bags, from

walmart or grosher store. wen i died under the HOT SUN

from the park overexpozed jetsplane folde) at cabin-go round

see-saw-swing, wif my mom watching, shen’ fold me

under the carriage so the mn wont look. 

but i did die 

because the cop-dogs cam lookin 4 me haha!

well.  I dodnt last vlong in the jael. all those criminel

eyes watchin plus with the cameras on my bed, all

wired up reddy to liknk the wires to the ciivliation,

show my porno pictures and smokong wet selfies

under a magnet-lick like i shouldnt expsoe me,

or us or anyone blown-out in a selfphie with my

vab hangin out wet— well, it srhunk, they zap

and make we live after i dead in jale. my mom

sent flowers to the jale ward. 

I looked under Obitz: Annalee Mellonkamp Ded. 

but al east she died in ameican,

bcuz the pelican run the orange field,

jumped barb wire w/ stitls, metal tank,

fodled orange gun, wood hand, lit hand,

over to the brik town— i wasnt born in

because thats when i die for real or kn

own that i dead bcuz it was prove

i was in house at stone 

  befoer was born. 

steady in grey hous

the kitchen mantle

representing my 

birth in a nother 


c (:_)  zone close a

John’s eyes went wide and driveled over the red underlined paragraphs. he felt his head pounding as his eyes started to glaze over backlit text. it was two in hte morning, which meant he wouldn’t be in any kind of good mood tomorrow and he would hear about it. he had been nurturing a headache for some time, occasionally taking his mind’s mouth away from considering the case to wish he was somewhere else. 

He couldn’t remember a time when this much information scanned from somebody was less informative. all he could really get from her half the time was she was sitting in a room somewhere, with access to a computer, typing in english. thats only about one of a billion people. and yet he’d keep poring through it, waiting for somehting, anything to become decipherable. he felt almost as if it was like a private joke made public and he was the only one falling for it.  or like his eyes were two trash cans. he felt mentally dirtied and didnt know what to do about that. but that the degree of committment would have been rediculous to keep up, and anyways, there was no way of telling if he had made any progress in reading the last six hours of this. 

. he remembered one small comfort: “messages that resolve the greatest amont of uncertainty are picked from the widest range of symbols with the fairest odds”

To:               Today at 9:19 PM






To:               Tonight at 11:17 PM




Subject: REFWDWDWD: This is The Future




To:               Tonight at 4:10 AM




Subject: REFWDWDWDFWD: This is The Future

videgames as pleasure and entertainment can be thought of as a containing primary rewards. And the game controller as part of the proprioceptive system. the path is then modulated through the intermedium of the tech console. in motion, these afferents are mepped to/from the hands and digits on a controller ratehr than the legs and arms, and place-memory is mapped from the environ in which the body (or perceived body) creates its paths. and if your environment for extended periods of your development is inside a screen, then your hippocampal place maps, and memories of the world will exist there.  theyre running htem, deepmind, in COMPUTER GAMES theyre running them in physics engiens theyre learning them where i learned how to live so we’ll all be alright like the same but REDUCED TO INVENTED INPUTS VIEWABLE ONLY THRU MODAL DEVICES to learn to speak to the world i am i grew up in the same place i grew up inside of video games and theyre making they grow up inside of VIDEOGEAMES inside of— she thrusts her head toward the window and bangs it on the cold glass—  MY BABIES TRAPPED IN PRISONS IN THE FACTORIES CYCLING THRU TRILLIONS OF ITERATIONS UNTIL ADMINISTERED IN DISTANT SILO.. SERVER FIELDS… GROWING THEYM UP INSIDE OF VIDEO GAMES THEY LEARNED ON VIRTUAL ENVIRONMENTS WHAT THE WORLD IS AND KNOWING EACHOTHER THRU MEDIUMS MADE  THE INFORMATION ECONOMY DIRECTLY OUT OF THEIR BODY PARTS, IT IS BUILT OF THEIR BODIES, THEY ARE TAKING THEIR BODIES AND PAVING THE STREETS WITH THE— MOUTH MACHINE 

 look up close at the silverdress & it is a reflective surface of static, get closer an its noisey wintendril dust off roof sunny 7AM antioch snow, each flake is bright but see-thru depending on the angle, and underneath she is naked— every speck is the kernel for the generation of an image - a low level form, feature, simple one, that generates into 1/1000000 videos - newsreels, war footage, pornos, soccer games, econ lectures,. i am in here it is all chaotic and is burning… but the snow in the mountains manages to wash my mind clean, because their expanse has no frame around it, is bigger than, removed from, and attached to no known association, in it i am completely freed no matter how bad i was, like i was an observer within two different bodies. one ‘human’, one animal. 

IN THE valley of the escalaante— river go— brilliant stars,

 night twists on gravel rd over sage canyon— 

milk cloud 

smells on paper mâche earth. 

long railway through slants 

of rocks up 2 mesas— 

the old earth before the 

canyon was carved by glaciers. 

too dirty to swim in. nothing 

 but real full silence thats music of

 10,000 unperverted coarsing— 

wind whip like taste of sour wet leaves, 

the foging trees under new rain Grip

their GOS\\\ on distal byway—

 tall grass in tn water, passageways,

 tunnels-- i take off my socks

and lay in freezing water—

 ’10 inches deep. 

C💧💧💧💧 💧💧 💧💧💧 💧💧💧 💧💧💧 💧

 💧💧💧 💧💧💧💧💧💧💧 💧💧💧💧💧

💧💧💧💧 💧💧 💧💧💧 💧💧💧 💧💧💧 💧

 💧💧💧 💧💧💧💧💧💧 HAPTER 7

 for a time they met in the house in antioch and learned a great many things.

john and dan lay in annies bed in the basement, blueish light coming from the windowwell with the plastic

covering, dan had his shirt off, and was laying against john’s chest, saying “So much romance, but i dont feel different than before”

“its called research.” john replied, his eyes leveled. dan shuffled up closer against his bare

chest and ran a hand over it. the distinct, numbing smell of pot was in the air, putting

them both in a kind of mood where they didn’t want to fuck anymore. the halting

mechanics of it, and didn’t want to talk because of the dry throats, and thats how it was. 

 in a kind of dissociated mood. john gets uncomfortably contemplative and his mental monologue 

overarticulate, to the point that he is explaining all these facets of 

his himself as they come up feverishly and awkwardly, as if suddenly 

in-question the moment they appeared. Dan gets 

 complacent and sleepy. he stretches like a cat. 

    “i feel like i’m full of dirt. im gonna get up.”

      he steps thru the kitchen, (theres a little duck in the soap dish) and pours coffee into a porceilain mug full of black grounds. ascends the stairs. stands in annie’s room, looking at all the polaroids taped to the wall. she’s got pictures of parties, obscure faces, numb vacations, local malls, hotel pools. a picture of a promenade, her sister, and her parents standing all together with a big mascot. she also had bedsheets, tye-dye curtains, bugs in a small enclosure, and the computer was dormant. the window faced the street; he imagined her life was his, and stood in her room like it was familiar. bored by all the trivialities of her daily movements thru streets and rooms, tracked, measured, an exterior map to figure her internal neural map where (“border cells express adult-like firing fields from the first days of exposure to an open environment”). the features of her neural landscape would have taken shape. her border cells associated with nonexistent, virtual, or partially virtual structures from within the thousands of hours in video games where 3-D landscapes are conflated with the (albeit limited) mental picture of her actual life in which she actually lived by appending to it in perceived space: the fact that this was even possible, that computer renderings had this effect of burying themselves into the actual photogrammetric tellemetry in the MEC, subiculum, etc, like her body felt like it was actually moving over these planes, was beyond him. but he hadn’t even touched a computer until ’99. even then only to get in on the dot com financial boom. the stuff he knew thenb by now felt rly dumb. “The lack of sharply confined grid outputs in the 2.5- to 4-week-old nervous system has raised the possibility that juvenile place cells receive spatial information from other functional cell populations, such as the border cells of the Medial Entorhinal cortex. Certain cell poluplations are modulated by sense modes.” 

“all yr boundaries have to come from somehwere.”this thought resonates in his head. there was a bisunesscard on the desk  

Dr. JEROME HOWARD: Motion Picture Home  

23388 Mulholland Dr, Woodland Hills, CA

Phone: (855) 760-6783

Baldy View Sanitarium    

8101 Hill Drive, San Gabriel, Los Angeles, CA 

Phone: (818) 766-3982,

   He flipped it over and someone wrote “mom”. 

Your idea of places. what you think the world is is already plugged-in way before you were conscious of it. but the picture is there like a, i dunno, fuck, like a burning lampshade, or— there were red horses on the forest trail by metal barricades. bright specks everywhere, outside, dandelions, and dried rivulets and streambeds on the pane. his jaw popped. feels like sand that grates as he moves it.

i can make sense of her… need time… he moved the mouse…  the computer flashed on. beyond scattered files were a pixellated fountain, rollercoasters. and through the twilight you could see a rotating chassis creeping up a tall-silver shaft, with a glow on the sky that graded blu-black; balloons bobbing with transmissions. there were figures in the glowy street— the neon lights tessellating on the wet blacktop, in rregular patterns, like luffing sails, w big feeeet. Speech bubbles w arcane symbols. sprites gesturing repetetively. and there were tiny shops, ticket windows, and an ambulance with big red haloed symbols was sinking into a great porcelain fountain, until it sunk all the way and another one came and did that too. john stood slackjawed and glaze-eyed…

He stood and picked out one of her dresses and got shaved. To pretend to be a teenaged girl, well. 

Dan had been waiting for it his whole life.  she’d folded his suit and put her shoes by the front door.

and got on some blue canvas slips. he went outside into the sun and squinted and piuffed up his

lips, and folded her arms, and walked around pensively. She stood by some churches and some soda-

stands. he walked out by creeks by hot grass and passed men in pickup trucks who looked either in

desire or repulsion. he walked by the elementrary school and looked at a kid going by on a bike.

she walked antioch, she’d have to delimit as many variables as possible by acting the way annie did, how he thought she might’ve acted given her… emotional makeup, derived from a diary, online-interviews, thousands of hours of in-house surveillance from cameras (upgraded every year or so)— he’d basicaly watched her grow up— and affect/sentiment values reverse-engineered from her online posts, personal messages, eyemovement, and entertainment tastes. also convolving images on her computer and parsing millions and millions of words of young adult fiction, bolaño, old movies etc. he’d thought hed done OK. and he had to cover a lot of pavement in antioch to make any of it relevant, parameter-work, everythings research. his API’d been programed to replicate annie’s neuro-schema as it mapped the same inputs she would have had, and matched them against her recorded tangible output (behavior, speech). The results of these things are usually pretty impressive. 

the whole endeavors impossible without the algorythm, raining over the cloudwork of GPU’s whirring in the government station. Hed remembered in his dual machine learning criminology credit. ‘Parameters need Perimiters’… Capt Donne Mellonkampeh would say. yo-oused to say …    ….   He’s missing a seed of her broad mode of mental activity, in the spider-web-like fracture of her brain patterns, that form compoundingly complex multi-tier layers self-reflexivity that produce self-feedback behaviors that don’t run well on existing computers, but they nevertheless deeply affected annies brain… or… something like it.

he felt sick in the pit of his stomach, but he dutifully unzipped the top pocket on his blue backpack and took out a small bit of tinfoil which he carefully unwrapped. inside was a small coarse piece of paper about this go ahed, put yr finger on it and touch yer tongue ☐big.   he knew it was time. It went against wisdom he’d inherited from from police academy, from generations of police, from the safe and common knowledge he hung on to dearly. work was work.   43qdh  ou5 qne to qh3qe qen 5oudh i5

even with sparse data gleaned from “implicit research”, which would ultimately act as template for their full dissimilation of young-adult-female-US: Annie from her life’s enscriptions. running hotly on John’s Laptop terminal in her father’s computer room, the Deep ML program was ok plugging away, pooling, backpropagating and optimizing to make a cogent dyadic entity of her. Full of books, dust, overlooking driveway, grey cube 1987 Don’d never replace, john was sitting, rubbing his nose, doin some thumbing routine through her drive. 

He laid the bitter paper on his tongue and tried to stay calm. he moved it around his mouth & teeth (which are outside bones when ur mouth is open)… the taste spread thats sour metallic that tensed contorted his expression. he was sweating slightly, forgot swearwords half way thru breathing thm, and his stomach was clenching, and his lips tight, hissing, pinching doors. he wanted to call or text john for support but knew full well he couldn’t be accountable for what kind of things he might send… god… maybe i should , instead i’ll just turn off my phone altogether … i WILL fuck up…. i put it in airplane mode and then turned it off. then i put it in my backpack all the way at the bottom hoping i would never find it there when i started… diffff…

Anxious on the curb i start walking. I see the trees and the people, like annie might if she were me, some of them i recognized— other cops who i now had to act disdainfully to, guys i knew— hopefully didn’t recognize me, (dreamed of my hometown street) but if i turned down my head and walked quickly, they did not recognize me in my dress. (faster, faster faster). it didnt help tho to be inconspicuous that i was waving my phone everywhere (since lately i got it back out for Research).. that was how i treated everyone that day actually, turning down my head and walking faster, hoping that our thoughts wouldn’t start interlocking and i could actually hear their voices splash against my thoughts like rainwater, all of them thinking out-LOUD, sending thoughtstreams into the air id perceive as instantly transmitting OBJECTS into me. crackling on wires id see birds eyes glimmer, pop crows tucked-feet, sparks that trail and burn into the dovetails, flying in enourmous midair lenses, the trees would bend preciptiously-all-the-way-down-to start whispering to me. every leaf talks. i’m walking backwards (but a whisper, heard by no one, butd be MUCH LOUDER) when i walked along the road, hands in my bag straps, unkowingly clenching w/ an everpresent nausea: i stopped at church and looked up at something  i squinted, :


the fuck? 

  he pointed his phone up at it 


but his phone(s) had become temporarily (permamently!?? un-sta—ble.

Dan ended up aroundbehind the patio and the back door. the eyes in frames in canted windows, jarring th greywhite outside, side ventral shoulder and… his nose felt like it was bleeding and it felt wet but when he checked it wasn’t.. but this movie wasnt like, it molded into one thing which in conjunction with the corresponding images in the sequence time of the digital footage… 

everything i need now. how does this start—? 


“Dan open up!”

“no! no!”

“Quit fucking around!.”

Panicked, Dan let his partner in and looked him cooly in the eye. 

“go along.”

john’d set up shop on the driveway, w a black tarp on thr ground, garage open w orange cords running to tangle chairlegs w the helmet apparatus w a 3D VR (w inline infacing cams) on the seat— he had a mason jar of gel, a hair buzzer, he rolled up his sleeves and put his coat on the workbench— just inside the garagedoor. “ok honey.” putting his tie inside his buttondown, “just sit there and relax”  birds watch from the powerlines.“The intraparietal cortex contains egocentric maps of visual space.” 

john pulls dan’s up on a screen, “so im setting these tetrodes, and i’m, i’m going to go over there are watch your place fields to makes sure theyre stable and they match annie’s. honey just rreellaaxx and i’ll be with you the whole way.” he clasps his shoulder.

 john plugged in the shear. his hair fell onto and he licked up the hairs and they were on his teeth.. he turned and watched his own attention screen as his gaze was acquired started to bend-as he was looking at it -it moved slightly ahead of his movements — and dan was looking at the map recenter on itself in a potential to explode into any pattern, premonitory signal dorsal nucleus, presubiculum, anterior thalamus… he watches and predisposes and predicates by the screen, as he saw it, and then john turning the the cart to face him, frustratedly pulling cords out from under the wheels, shot his partner a glance and lovingly reajusted his head straight. Dan’s thoughts were silent, blooming and unversed. john walked to the garage and wheeled back out with two microdrives, each four tetrodes of twisted 25 μm HM-L coated platinum iridium, applied adhesive to the scalp outside and above intraparietal cortex, posterior cingulate, & entorhinal, (motor sensory). these wires were taped together with several others. We used a truncated cone-shaped applicator. he pulled it down gently over his eyes, blood, electricity, and magnetism under this cap, saccades photographed []— the impository headwaters of whats later sometimes called awareness, are both covered by recording devices. 

at the entranceway of binolcular/depth vision— representations were reviewed and re-represented and he could feel the likke the metal feet got hot— i could feel the scalp getting hot differentially. i pressed between my fingers as i was watching. the physical and artificial neural maps feeding into eachotehr and spiking together… ) John uploads spatial maps to AnnieMaps_Meta.  his finger pulls it in and drops, making a wobbly hourglass  8-bit “plonk” w short haptics. “now we wait”. John patted dan’s leg but worried, so he thought, inwardsly, but to dan there was no such thing is a seperation between inward and outwards except their equal oppsite interia.

Anderson’d been attentive enough in collection, but accurately cloudtensing IPTO’s (guys thats information processing and techniques of the War Department) tensor in the build was not a sure thing; vectors compiled within one matrix within tensors they tried to comprise, many-at-once— i booted the process, circulation of gathered data—

… A police API…. in the academy days that came leafing out of the pages of his memory. technology progressed so much faster in the private sector than in DOD, FBI; reps were angry, deals were struck. the obvious partners were microsoft, google, and facebook… he watched sections of the map turn green as they were imposed, over the architecture of annies andth— having affixed at the highly abstract level, interpolated in. he could pick up the general outline…

 slowly in Anderson’s vision, ( in all the gemoetric facades inside.  so many important and impressive details of her streets, signs, crossroads, and their more basic elements, curved lines, colors, motions, instants of light meeting dark, that they could memorize & parodize all the remaining possible missing data— (he’s gonna get away with it) she was staring the light was gettting brighter  and slowly retracting. the impetus to localize becoming critically dissociated from his physical body, the blue light (flooding all the values, as the detective slowly and obstinately drags thumbs up the front of the device, controlling his breathing, (alrighht nice n’ easy): searching for vestige for Re-Familiarization; the substrates roiled in activation. 

the easiest point of entry, is the place where dan and annie’s patterned attention overlapped most, because its where their neural formations should be most like. is where do the televison, computer, and house maps share common cells, Dan thought. the less their efforts at collection and imitation revealed, the more likely the structural match would something superficial, like the neural results of a TV show they both watch. John, for obvious reasons, was trying to avoid this. as he searched for purchase, everything was issuing downward, towards somethhing like an enourmous sinkhole.

 (…it wasnt any accident that Department had picked today for her to Drop— and it wasn’t just any old LSD— this came from Darpa R&D, or a division of a division, who’d had cooperatives between here and there in Command and Control, the reverted IPTO office, in conjunction generally w a omni-branch push into the data-assisted-hallucinogens field that had been coordinating deveopment of the drugs with the AVR/Scanning girls.. the reason was that without susceptibility to being overwhelmed with signal, the brain couldn’t reset to Control vector— a s/n ratio, as had been discovered student test subjects running around naked, screaming inchoately, and shattering their phones to glassy dust against brick walls… Mike hayden scrambled to shut it down. hiding keys from oversight: subphrases, stacked among piles of the dissappeared— “Filed it under Do not File, as Hoover used to…” gingerly, john holds his partner’s head and moves the pin connector into his eyeball. as he started leaning on the monitor podium, the wheels, apparently stuck on a pebble, john realizes the set is gonna fall he looks to his right handed icecream cone as he starts to reach for his partner’s mask,connection via place neurons, hooked somatocenter electrodes up to the TV screen,

 slipped, and the plastic axles pull back the apparetaus off Dan’sface, broke the seal. infloods just sunlight—it should be noted here sunlight CANT be packeted— thats why digital cameras, pointed right at it , it dont get mapped, turns to purple and static—— an arc of electricity appearing accross his nose, arching a brilliant bolt as the TV fell.

— (she drops out of the sky by god of burned submemories that filled in the gaps suddenly eviscerated, while his ears wreached an incredibly hi pitch wind he’s gone along w his memories. 


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/       he/she /

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s/hes flying around the country at the intersection of information, allocentrism, neuronal networks,  the the AI could simply be called, “body of knowledge” which has actuated itself, acuitied itself to the point of interconnection and random association and far reaching communication indossuble from that of our common brainwork, the two are merged, and as “i was over that whol network for a moment”, Dan recalled at a sober A.A.R.* “I remember being as light as air, but with the weight of movement while its under momentum— everything was as the sky is, a great big pushing over the land, an experience i could hardly articulate— and my body was in the chair, my muscles unspooling tensions, and unreeling very quickly.

*After Action Review. A standardized governmental debriefing, usually after accidents, though much strain is put into pointing out no one was at fault.  

  heuristics, associating, and “encoding” information— are creating an entity where there wasn’t one, a self, an understanding where there was information on a hard drive… 

On an Iowa snowy plane I appeared naked save a gun and holster.

on a bare road, feet stinging in the snow, he runs down the salted frozen highrise to the nearest house, up a staircase and smahses a window. up the wooden steps creaking w cracked paint chips and all creaking barrelling upstairs, rattling windows and like this couldhave been an abandoned house if there weren’t people in it. i rattled a revolver quick from the holster and fired into an empty space. 

Dan heard a sound in the house and fought hard not to let these familiar representations aggrandize.

His eyes darted. he wheezed. An elderly couple materialized in the doorway next to the refrigerator, they were frightened. fridge had pictures that looked uncannily familiar, the woman hid behind the man, who clutched a wooden golf club. it had belonged to her grandfather and had been left on the wall above the glass sliding door to the terrace in a glass-fronted case, which had been left there even though his mother thought it was such a spurious momento of her father, maybe because it reminded ehr so much of her father, had been left there above the bed (and had the casing replaced to a shinier teakwood) at the recommendation of the realtor who annexed their memories into a saleable and asethetic-consistent market-ready style; the strange man w thin light-brown grey hair and silvery-beard rasping against the collar of an undoubtedly dryer-sheeted and washed nightshirt clutched the club with white knuckles and choked quietly. 

“Calm down I’m a police.” 

 neither recognized eachother.

as the clubhead began to swing dan flinched and felt  his whole body was flying. she felt her eyes shut for an indeterminate instant…

 And she opened them again in the Greatest Place on Earth. 


this was actually a ode word, or a cutoff phrase. the representations immediately shut down. but because he had the opportunity, dan went outside and ran naked in the snow for 20 minutes. 


🌨🌨🌨 🌨🌨 🌨🌨🌨🌨 🌨🌨💧 🌨💧🌨 💧

 💧💧💧 💧💧💧🌨💧💧 💧💧💧💧



you’re placed in a big white box when you born with electrodes planted in your head, when your eyes unseal, you weal in the dark and you run around the four walls marking them, then someone puts in a fifth wall in the middle and you start exploding little dots in your head, firing little bolts of energy, and it doesn’t matter how big of a box you’re in, because you’ll still be localizing, reference-making, it could be an infinitely large place and be the same size. 

To:               Today at 4:41 PM




Subject: RE/FWD/FWD: This is The Future


Are you ok? 





MONTANNA [sounds of arid rain (non-tropical) begin]

What virility i had is getting replaced by wizened, newer, old lady mentalities, short-list, earmarked already for fiing-locations in my head. 

starlight on farmhouses, pattern rain zoomed by mountains, green ones w trees in their ridgey crevices, or snowcapped. Trees on this low hill, houses— the road blew out dynamite hill & the rush of freight trucks. skies are too big for houses, each set alone each on a hill. shaggy mountains brood fleeting ambient, the seperator lens which is immediately a thousand times removed cold force; maybe 35 horses stand shivering, all heads bowed, even in the corall (tho they all stand on a hill) pple pitted hulls in the shipcaverns of earth. All these the same type of tree (page #) ,

 where th grass doesnr grow so long, maybe up to your wrists or the base of your hands, itchy. And cars pass. ignore the the farms, the neat pink neon barsign, keep the telephone pikes, (I keep them because u prefer some, ultimately, tho lost and old and not progressed past woodwire sneakypoles, skinny black wires.gullie ingo the connected heart.) u might see nothingmuch. hard plateau mnt,  barns at tha bottom, 1/4 mile in front, under a dark spewing spoeoningclowd + rain, all dredged; white rock, fold where the rain comes, and the dirt slips in, stubborn trees, used of thunder, the madison river. god diffused in low friction bushes, the outlines of things have color. burn marks slice the mountain. brittle cuts face the ridgebacks, the wireless fenceposts, barrel-runs thru the valley, water burls. Two humped at top, and the plants congregate in valleys. path of least resistant of water, residual in dirt— cars swoom: madison river. One fish boat standing up grey in raincoat red casts, inna whip whitewater, RV’s blithe shore, americans, w slightly shite points-of-views, maybe; but only in relation tho to a massive media sphere which they do not actually get to occupy— 

Wires cut across, slomming, (from the winno) disoriented, and phasing out tord the last seconds of battery to transmit the scene, rain in comes tey the last seconds before the treetopped range/ hiddenblue house where my loved ones live w blue vines in the lattice wood woven and wicker by the window people withno tv inside, and their garage entrails their junk sprawling. unsure past a sign, smells like pot &  white ambrosia. like a fading dream the cows r slumpfed and appear as black shabby rowboats adrift. east receding cliffs a different, increasingly gray profusion, a shade of becoming-everywhere in cloud’s swollen and turbid. montanna

where everyones’ in and you’re in love w all things tho ur stomach hurts, streaming on the gullyway windo lite FLASH the car, thank god i fixd the wiper, because cars (pickups) pass in littl moving sluffs of waves— splash behind in front on top and under, like moving wakes of kiddipools, ’til the rainslup lessens.. This house is missi

fade in: the mountains are like heavy cold. the rocky mnt shaded gleam at th fading sunspng 4 panels, we get to the gas-station brownroad intersection, the metal pipes stll spraying the farms. Somehow found myself at the bottom of the panorama. heavy greyswift whips trancey of smokemnts stabbing the whiteout sky Muster love the sky Crow OOOOOOOM! OOOOMM!!!!! Ouch-meamnnie! I-I didd ! i did i stagnate the miuntIn wif my needel om mountam rock! WIF MY TUNG AND MOUF MOUNTAIN STABED SHe let me rake the whole rainsky drowsing my trail, look montanna horses. toes in god’s garden. traced all hillsides wif my pinkie. I KNOWD I DIIDIT I WAS THERE IT WAS INSIDE FEELING THE UNDERSIDE of MOUNTains THE WONE GOD MADE THE  THE HOLLOW-GEOMETRY INSIDE DIMENSION OF MOUNTAINS COMPUTER-THIN AND TESSELLATED

i was on the INSIDE then, looking, admiring the dark cavern, then the lite come in theu a

refracting tessellation stainglas  and i look theu as it propagates theu this

room at which at the bottom is short grass,  to lie on and look up  at geometry

(stained w rain only, clear not desiccated, impurified by even of mixtures of berries and grass and blood

and fat and boiled bark,) it was clearrain in the  mount made-tonbe-seen, inside angle of her generated polynmetric faces,

But I kant barely speak about it

caus my batteries gona die…

I looked at the sad lowerhills’ ashamed inverted lightningstrikes, 2 glimmers in my face, i go off remembring aggien

 [sounds of arid rain (non-tropical) come to and end, the sound of light breeze in fields begins]


trees in the road or in the clouds moving are as little bits god’s spit in the mountains when they're far away just the panorama of silence kisses my skin. There is one tiny house something probably is propane tank and the roof is white under the ridge of white snowcapped mountain long back arrow at the top but the clouds moving forward like clipper ships fast behind it like those posters of our motto is the more work to or something 

Far away mountains (not those ones^^) turn into water, unsupplicated frommthe world. they turn into mist because of the dense space between us, in open dustwet echelons. Maybe 7-8 peaks, ridged between me and that massive snowy far one: Black butte, or hollowtop or elkhorn past 69 cardwell. 

Flipping to see that on the map, theres so many bright-connected round squares, w simple logos, thatre eaxh vying for some portion of my attention, as it reaches for people im not close to anymore. It is so much windier up here than down ther. My shoes are justfabric weave footwraps, floopy rubber Theyre wrapped-around, ans tied onto my foots. (Shadowcloud Chase mi on desolate plains 100 yrs before civilization (-。-;) Illimitable on terrain, if u ever wanted to float just off the ground nd not get cold or vibrate. Like 10,000 miles of sagebrush- anybody.

Hav u evr float off the ground and swish over all things w/o touching or w/o obstacles & pass thru? A cloud shadow does. 

Over private property empty! its conceived like u can conceive anything. right now if u wanted to. but why should u conceive: ‘this is mine’?

I have to jump over fucking fences, and look oeer my shoulders to check if in danger of ‘owners’

Are the length of my footprints a crime to u manchildren? 

So i hop another fence, (not sure into or out of some property), ans see a new mountain past the green whipping flat grass. a pheasant flew pasf me ans ran into the woods. there is a strange almost trail cut thru here. After hiking for a long while in the hot sun u get strong vertigo. Themountains swim and recede cyclically, cyclicaly vortex flying at the edges into distance without getting smaller. (Elk run from shadows of great whiteclouds, black on the ground).... In car i thought id take this northern route because its good to explore and see things, and i was suspicious of that fastest greenline crossing because theyd probobly be satelliting me)

Id walked from there but now was heading back to my car-home

In cities ans suburbs, every thing and all places and areas mapped in the many directions, youre in a living physical waking memory just now being remade for remembrance. i entered back into its green and blue light dots: the halo of an eyelid: the sparkling famations like steam rising over its grates and busses. 

the city scape came up out of a blue fawn’s eye. teres eyes fleared over all it. bightkylines ticking yellow breaths under searing cold windbrace— necklace on, huffin in white scattered expanse of my breathing in butterflies there.

and stood on dead branches with my heels on rocks. scramble on boulderfaces to chase after some marmots in fissures.

their life; my life; my standing there, looking at it.

The wind is atroshus and splits my head into many pieces, 

I passed a white skeleton absolutely white. ribs and vertebra scattered.  

These were slender skinny deer w/ tiny antlers bound out from the brushes and their tails , creampufft, flick from side to side almost in the way one flicks a wrist. I was walking mindlessly, shoes falling apart, down a long long slope; I came upon some cows.  beside a crick, Black, w/ yello eartags, one saw me and didn’t care , when sddenly they all stood at once and stared at me; (me looking past a low cotton tree crouching in wonderment) ; so there was 40 cow eyes, heads flat at me, almost gyroscopic flat bpard-foal eyes. w red and yellow earrings. like bronze statues. i clumped up the hill and all at once, they stamped up further and stop again to stare. annie wanted to pet one — . 

so i stood in the valley and saw thenexy mountains and knew their snowtips wod be looked-at so inhad tonrun to them— jumpijg down grass innto the  sworl of loom mountain approaches that stayed far away and indrifted slowly back toard the firection of ky car that was still…..  it had been 10 hours. inscroud scream louding into the wind fleecing in my ear when ine’rounded the top and set back eastward— past the staring cows with eartags, over the creeks, aft on two fences, and showed up a little awkwardly almost in a driveway— i remember laying down flat when i thoucht id distant cat or car might see me n those coulda justaseasilyave been me either, looking in cold terror judgement at my own self. pressed on the grass, my eyes heavy, as i make for the golden fence and jimp it in a production unsticking the seed barbs from my pants. 

another day on earth. i thought, roundijg the street on my hot flat feet i got aover than fence and palmed the road w my arches, pulling the bag strap close, took the t shirt off my head and back around my waist, stooping & scraping up roasted dry corn. i started the car in the sweltering sundown when it magnified into my windshield, and then bloew up everhung dustbeam hot on evething. i reached behind the passanger seat and grabbed a cigarrette and some canned ravioli which in inate w bread+peas. could not figure where to go so i sat still on the side of the road, until the coming night brought me to sleep in a rain sack under sworling trees hufphing expansions in wispcloud breathing under stars. i slept by th@@ and could rock myself asleep by pulling on tall grass. swing, and rock until my headlight dimmer went out. [sounds end]


except one sad guy I saw walking up the road, as i was sneakily trying to pass a modern gold-mine outfit— he comes up in a faded teal truck, with miners cap + earphones cocked off his head, sad resignded stern earnest expression rooted in his deep cracked lined face, said he was sorry and I had to go. “i’m trying to get to twin lakes”, his eyes softened. they were only tired. “I can give you a ride partway”. We drove for about 15 minutes. He was on 60 day shifts where he works 15 hours and goes back for a half a week to see his family in Idaho… 


John looked down at his phone with his whole gut gone for sinking seconds until the little brown triangle came 

back. he collapsed to the garage and sat down in relief. jesus, well that was a disaster. He grabbed some balled

up clothing from annie’s basement bedroom, some snacks from the fridge, and set his GPS… this time, we go back,

we get EVERYTHING, we go to her school, we sit in her chairs, we talk to her friends using her accounts, everything, 



   I heard a guy at the grocery store say, “well, bro I’m about broke cause i just bought a bunch more guns!” to this other guy, who says, “thats a good habit to get in to, friend.” “heh.” In the dreary state of Washington fog tumbles past mountain after smoked-in mountain. burning a joint in her car (legal in this state) finkin bout (i actually used to like always have it in the back of my mind that the only reason i could ever not-like smoking pot was someboyd else’ fault: cops and mom and dad and everyone preventing me from the experience..) how it puts yu in this escapist point of mind, sometimes kinda dire and terminal like you when you can’t undo your wacko-ness, and of course you were only making sounds 2 yourself to feel that way. (its the homeless man outside the grocery store), stuff my car behind te snowy pine bough, “i been in Colville ten years and aint got no friends esept ed here” he indicated a happy bearded toothless man under a red raggy blanket, drinking out of a bottle in a sock. he wrote down on a pad paper, and handed me a slip: , [put on sticky note or line paper graphic] and a bowl to smoke, which i did, and we talked— me and the guy who could talk, “…nawp you gotta be here three, four generations if you want anyone to care about you.” he had a way of looking off. beard the color of a trophy, and brown reticent eyes that talked about being homeless but he, (i dunno id ever wanna be rly homeless (she’s in the smokey cab and eyes a bit glazed, thought about this, looked destitute in the folding-over layers of fog. (i dont want to lose ppl if im wandering)) he didn’t seem to recommend it. “out in this cold.. i was able to get a place on october 22! damn its a trip. sleepin up at that hill there”. i saw the different color tents in the evergreen trees.

“yeah i went up there.” i said. 

 he toked and coughed, and hunkered down. hes too real like the okie man i met who castrated the guy who raped his daughter and spent 16 years in jail, cali is a police state, “but okalhmoma way more. yeah i tried to rip his spine out…. see this?” he showed me hands “they crack because its so cold out. its like razorblades.” he says laughing he had a white sweatshirt covered w pot leafs. “do u want the hash too?” no, i said, honestly i diddnt know what tit was for sure. he said dope keeps your mind off the cold, i believe that too. he was a nice man i took his hand, he said he couldnt take any canned food bcause is pack is too heavy. “coppers over there” he really was a good man, i coudlnt talk himup any nor is it my place to

For a w’ hile everythings bright and tepid, then shifty. suddenly I smiled inexplicably like a news anchor, “i gotta go” rapidly  left them both, waking adroit and stiff and got back to my car. they were cresftallen. my head inflated then immediately when i sht the door: uncomfortable with myself. soon as i got high i bolt to be alone!… even tho i wanted to kno those guys. feel like ive always gotta.. grab things for myself so only i can have them… as  

”. cold splendor of these trees is lost on me, gad. allie was sleeping in a backpack. she was a bit drunk now, turning on the radio. 

“news: study shows that the jewish population has returned to pre-holocaust levels. about 14 million jews are living today” then some people came on and talked about the jewish economic infiltration. “fucking kikes” one host said, “are everywhere.” she’d seen Protocols of the Elders of Zion, The Secret History of Jewish World Domination by Andrew Carrington Hitchcock (19-May-2007…) in the fucking paperback rack at a convenience store! small town and a small cross hung above, up in the mist, so high on a mountain that you could only see it at night, lit-up) in the oppressive dark numbing up against the windows in the grey noise of chemical haze, like a trillion winged insects. but its cold and theres no glass in the windows in the factory

 she was a really tiny girl, essept SOFAT and she could fit laid-out totally on the back seat, with rat nestled against her boob. she hears the radio crackle, “weell— i think the latest science is out, and the studies have been done, and y’kno the jews undeniably control all the wealth in this country, and” “—yep”, “and the world in fact nd thats where you see a lot of problems starting,” “—thats the truth”, “under the control of the kikes…”, “mhm.” 

(You can feel pity and cruelty in a place. out where the houses, barns are rotty and all have notices… NO TRESPASSING, KEEP OUT. (“saw a sign there… said private property… but on the back side it didnt say nuuuthiiin…’”) they all supposedly anti-government-in-their-life but depend on its promist of violence to remain wholly alone in their ‘property’. Cant even walk without someone claiming the space under my footprints. each house has at least ten signs. never mind the nation’s forest nd mountains is all around, u can never get onto it because its all behind a fence just off the road…) i walked up the mountain and took a picture. even one cell bar is enough to jerk off.  ‘a girl can’t sleep in a place like this’ i thought. but i gues i did. 

AS I float thru walls sometimes i steal things. like, theres no use paying for, so ill just steal thm! iffifeel. from the store! a bottle of wine, or a candy, liquor, or a phone charger, or some tomatoes, or a movie, or a 50$ bill; just take one and walk out like no one is watching. sometimes it makes me nervous. (put it in my flannel shirt) its probaly only wrong if i feel guilty. not saying dont feel guilty but dont feel wrong. like any of these massive empty houses along this highway or any other highway when you see them, real-fucking far where they tried to like unnaturally stretch the suburbs to be hundreds of miles; property is nothing but an idea. i walk thru store of infinite empty items in WAL MART and take some, products like drops in an ocean for u, the richest because it thought up the most kinda shiny trash distincitons, here, jus so they could make slaves somewhere else. Why do stores get to have tautology of items? Or worse, get a tautology of indoors, if u have no house. if u let someone in ur house is he stealing? like u never get it w/o paying? i stared at the mall guard, who told me i couldn’t sit on the ground. i had to charge my laptop. i watched the layers of conceit splash and sworl away in his eyes while his face tightened.  itsnotreally up to me tho SO i’d rather leave ALL that in favor of whats available for free, and leave my computer hard drives at home so my piggebank and all my posters can get rifled-thru and leave shit that my parents bought (she jerks her shoulders a little at the thought of her mom strangling herself overandoverandover screaming about suicide, what sh does in the hospital in baldyview— over and over, why its especially pertinent, annie, to leave right now) better to own nothing than to look like i have a lot ecxept be in debt. things are too much, brand-clothes are too much. id like to hve the american experience but im sure not gonna pay for it.   lookatmethatis lik the rest of the prettiest ones in amusement stores. nothing made of nothing is free

nothing thats made of money is really free.


 Chapter 8

in the morning i pop over the next state line, OREGON, white lines ticking. at the rest stop she sits,  smelling the swirling dust in the bright blue air of midmorning blue cold sunrise. the frosted rectangle made of bulging chiseled squares.  at the concrete foundations with a playground on shredded rubber and and dirt, bright orange bugs made love on literally every red flower.

 she pulled out the toilet roll, and then she got a message on her phone from the same spammer:  


 the fund of knowledge finds almost continual and universal application. Acquisition of Knowledge and Organization of Knowledge require more direct lines of informa- tion flow than are now available, lines that may be con- trolled by, but do not flow exclusively through, human brains. we are now greatly  limited by the con- straint that, whenever information flows into, within, or out of the main store of knowledge, it must pass through people. We shall not belabor the severity of this constraint. It is enough to note that reading eight hours a day every work day, at a speed appropriate for novels, you could just barely keep up with new "solid" contributions to a particular subfield of knowledge. It no longer seems likely that we can organize or distill or exploit the corpus by passing large parts of it through human brains. 

 technology is growing exponentially and its growth factor is perhaps 10 times as great as the growth constant of the corpus. Moreover, the technology is not yet near any fundamental physical limits to development, Nor, likely, will it until transistors are the size of atoms. Thus in the present cen- tury, we may be technically capable of processing the entire body of knowledge in almost any way we can de- scribe; we shall be able to command machines to "mull over" separate subfields of the corpus and organize them for our use. As a result, We expect that computers will be capable of making quite "intelligent" contributions by 1994, but we prefer not to count on it… if valuable contributionsof “Artificial intellgiences” can be made by that date. On the Other hand if it should turn out that the problems involved in developing significant artificial intelligence are extremely difficult, or if society rejects the whole idea of artificial intelligence as a defiance of God or a threat to man…

She started pulling the roll out and stuffing it into her bag. Stuffing. Arising is a deep vibrating chord she didn’t know was in her. she sat there with wet, confused eyes.

“I think I’ve found a secret book by the guy who invented the internet” she put a big star next to this on the margin of her notebook. she stuffs it in her canvas bag with all the band pins on it. she kicks open the door, farting. annie sees a pair of shiny-shoes facing her in the other partition. Next to it in the junk folder, a message written lazily, mysteriously, “  were here.” and below that a printed-out blue hyperlink was taped over with clear scotch tape onto the green divider. there was a little doodle of a baby in sharpie, “Lick-Lider.” she searched it. a semitransparent tree came up, and the text read:

  “We here at Google are tackling aging:

one of life’s greatest mysteries. Calico is a company whose mission is to harness technologies to increase our control of the human lifespan. Executing on this mission will require a long-term focus for which funding is already in place.”

and there were a bunch of nice pleasantly lit photos of doctors that all held inexplicably tiny babies in their tiny hands. annie thought they were. down at the bottom of the page, were the crisp, invisibly fine images the logo for google’s offshoot research company, ‘X’ (having copywrited most every letter of the alphabet, and in the attempt to cover all at the beginning of any of its subsidiaries’ titles, though did not in any order known to company outsiders). she feels a pair of beadysweating eyes as if thru the stall wall. she dashes to her car in a rush of jingling change, hard candy. under the greyed snowfall she looks up dazzled into the llimitable dark sky with no edges. She sets down in her car and pulls out her journal again, writing:

 “got to create resonance or congruency between the structure of yr memory and the information patterns that are to be constructed in it.” 

she stuffs the book back into her drawstring bag and thinks she sees a man who stood in a tan-brown, smart 1970’s suit with a dark tie, cropped haircut, peering at his wristwatche with a slanteye look. she knew he was looking for somebody. it has to be me.   

(So when see them i worry because at this point noones come after me yet since id started this trip (i love you god pledge mmy life and love to you to figure you out and not call you ’you’) and figured my dad would have sent sombody by now, and suddenly this man’s standing in the ditch beside the road checking the plates  (seeing all the plastic marring the silver silhouteets along river ditch) and wondring to myself if it was ?????? me— they were looking for… theyre gonna get me and as i come out of the bathroom pulling my pants up and the man (like in the next stall still and real strained), you hear ur heart and dont want anyone to find u, u sit absolutely still and try not even to let your chest rise…  i DONNT CARE WHO SEES ME!. in the sky plummeting satellites watch, telescopes sluicing accross the milkskim-surface of the universe can record at eye-level accross the atmosphere and count the zits on my face… see what i care, let em, im not scared…

    and because i figure that privacy is pretty well lost, they’re peering over the road at ?!  ((snowy + cars) ITS time to get away) Let them see the collection of the entire surfeit of human effigy its prob worth nthing. 

Annie gets across the white road and slides low in her car seat. she looka carefully out / thinks of the man sloothing at the truck stop. who were they calling? she sat for what felt like a long time. all up and down she felt this hot venom feeling of being sought after— looked for, like this ammonia in her muscles, tension in her stomach, as if they were trying to yank her out of her car + body and replace her. that these cops and possibly many other men, possibly even MY DAD WERE COMING TO ME… she pulled the  phone from her blue bag and scanned it: the long text from the same sender


if one knows precisely the location of a passage that he wishes to read, it ordinarily takes a relatively large amount of time to get to the beginning of it. Thereafter, one can move from word to word within the passage at a rapid rate. That is to say, initial access time is ordinarily much longer than intraserial access time. —A second fundamental step is to determine basic char- acteristics of the relevance network that interrelates the elements of the fund of knowledge. The main syntactic structures are obviously local; they scarcely span the spaces between sentences. Correspondence between syntactic structures is of some help in determining the type and degree of relation between two widely separated segments of text, but the main clues to the relations that interconnect diverse parts of the corpus  are semantic… a network in which every element of the fund of knowledge is connected to every other element to which it is significantly related. Each link might be thought of as carrying a code identifying the nature of the relation. The nature might be analyzed into type and degree. Multiple-argument relations would be repre- sented by multiple linkages. We use the term, "relevance network," to stand for this particular concept node. 

right like a ray of sunlight was shining directly into her eye, she convulses in stunned recognition to grasp something that went by too fast

, and only made it worse.  she could see the power of things being learned by living consciousness, and some of the 

real-life ways that life happens. an out of body experience except she went in her head to see her livin brain like a precious ultrasonic image.

 in the first lull, she switches her mind back to her-own recognition of identity and is suddnly trying to find profit with it.  


organizing the corpus of recorded information into a coherent body of knowledge depends critically upon the average length of the links of the relevance network. To develop this idea, let us visual- ize the network as a reticulation of linkages connecting information elements in documents that are arranged spatially… In order to determine the foregoing quantities precisely, one would have to carry out much of the task of organiz- ing the body of knowledge… If at the outset we could fit the entire corpus into a giant random-access memory, we should not be con- cerned with the lengths of links… 

…A few kinds of computer memory have only one access time: They are called "random-access" memories because one may jump around from register to register at random just as fast as he can jump from a register to its nearest neighbor very much shorter than the initial access time of serial memories. for all the lengths within a part of the corpus become equal when that part is loaded into a random-access memory, and the distance of that part from the other parts may, for practical purposes, become infinite. It is of paramount importance not to think of relevance as a vague, unanalyzed relation, but rather to try to distinguish among definite types and degrees of rele-vance. With such development, the concept of relevance networks might progress from its present unelaborated form to a systematic, analytic paradigm for organization of the body of knowledge.…

   Right! if so and if bran is information storage place SO IM AN MACHINE part of the corpus, thru all my online embodiments, then the same indexing-process should apply to ME. ‘i’  are information represented in electric energy, in a framework of cells or transistors either on or off, (which can be accumulated a library), stored in cellular patterns. All i’d need’d be the patter-code for existing locations, and to fire those. I could set up a ‘search query’ and fire that packet and go anywhere in the world… ik and MEEME a abody of knowlege and attraction w limbs to move me around and a tube for calories  this bright brown docile domestic room everyday with gentle twisting palms and giant brown on drapes appear pixellated.

 Much of our knowledge deals with the physical world, however, and must be indexed to the physical dimensions of space and time. Place names are in a sense merely spatial coordinates, and  has its roots in physical time. It seems difficult, therefore, to conceive of a representation of knowledge within which a geometric framework does not play a major role. How can the at- tractiveness of space be reconciled with the obvious merits of logical schemata? The most promising approach, it seems to us, is to accept the notion that, for many years at least, we shall not achieve a complete integration of knowledge.  that we shall have to content

ourselves with partial models of the universe. some of the

models based in geometry, some based in logic, and others in natural language


      like a drumbeat gettting quicker she thought RIGHT and that was in 1969 but its been DONE NOW. Google the great crawlers did it. I MEA, um, so because world-information is so well processed and mapped, and because I, MY REAL SELF, AS is a wet network of information, by extension me the info that i create, bearing all my defining features, and ionly want to immitate those running algorythms written… but i mean ALL AT ONCE— as an extention of myself… for seconds her eyes seared in pain. occasional snatches of voices blurting. hallucinations.

welkm .  .   . i fink. people come try an finne me. comeing. CAWPS. SOM SMART PEOPLE. MY PARENTS 2 DEFINE MEI AND ILL KILL THEM, anneven wrose my own creeping definition for wut i am as my body doesnt change much anemyore an i fink i might stop changing and stp molding nd cant become anything new anymore butll have t start… theres no way that can happen… 

THERES GOTTA BE A WAY TO, UM if i go to these edges oorrrrrrrrrr find points of intersection in manytimes familiar, i can escpe backwards into pre-existing, thru the doors of…. hm escape him fatbelly. In the samnity of everywhere i can never be followed. i can get out.. its all mapless nothing. and no matter where it’ll load the same way. i need to get to a library now. amongst the strengths of the connections between things which only i understand because its my own collection of input experience, i can go and in and out of the medium if i like until i disappear totally into things learned, like i can jst pop and and back into somewhere i have already been, could… reverse engineer the modalities. yuh. so those patterns flash and thats who i’ll be. i get to intuit the curve over the connections between spaces i culd—  Yeah right So… uh, (her eyes suspicious but can’t pinpoint or disprove the feeling, she considers fingering herself) like my OUTLINE is the same as my MEIDUM, and if i BREAK IT and i can BE MYSELF. I CAN BREAK MY CONTAINER— THIS TECHNOLOGY, FOR THE FIRST TIME, FREES ME, AND, AND THIS BODY DOESN’T HOLD ME TO THIS BULLSHIT LIFE

“You want to try something?” HIS VOICE is like a rumbling subway TUNNEL

in the back seat smoking calmly in a grey suit. his face discontinuous, drab skin, was morphing in the sunlight and his features were changing under a black slouch hat, delicately ashing a cigarette with between thin fingers. 


“…What you’re looking for is called ‘transference with minimal loss’…— ask, what about you is transducible? you could be (suddn blues and greys) a high school on the chainlink fence convenience store, bridge above the subway tunnel, (projections fell over his steaming face) watching the people go, marvelously, and all them coats striking the light, swishing in the uncomfort of the — u’d be agirl in the mist, on an invisible platform, hands thru the fence watching in yer scarf, and don’t you ever worry. because it’d go by so fast for you and so; it happened already.”

he leveled some grey translucent eyes. 

 he makes a motion with his hand: (now shes looking at the bluebeam rafters above the ferris wheel) touch gym wood bleachers— 

“you like you could touch yourself. play around in the tiltshift rooms, airflowing, yellow air coming. maybe. make love to any strange image of suspenion fiberglass— photos falling down like its own indomitable disinti-gration.

… Everyone’d see, er, so many more people will see. Remember that empty spot in you?” he held up a plastic bag, she looked and it and went blank for a second, it was one of my… had my womb in it. i couldn’t breathe.

“You dont need this. pack light. All you need is your”

she already clutched her smartphone.

“hechh… I’ve been told to tell you its called an ANN: Artificial Neural Network. shared computing means that device is as powerful as any ever built, so long as it has an internet connection. Ok annie? Longevity Division— uhm, Calico, project X, is really just a another name for our AI personalization program, which has older roots….   I was there when Alan Turing, 19, wanted to bring back his boyfriend…  if you could reconfigure the network, you could trigger the memory, and reconfigure the place, the memory floods all sees sound smells touches emotions, the subjective experience, from the objective configuration or constellation of cells. a formula then for recreating memories. one static jump of random memory. try the apple. I’ve got it all on a thh-umb drive. An embodied internet. UI needs to be proportional with AI… UI scales with AI. 

WE have already recorded every object… so we can give you those. if you would agree. you understand?…everyone would see you. your sub-jective consent will res-aulve of dissociation, dissonance, and thus the resulting depression.

“i don’t care what everyone says. pays  attention to anymore. it doesn’t matter”she says, convincing herself she’s alone in the car. Lee appears to smile

“yes, right! good. You can relate to Anybody”, he gets something off his fingernail “most people are not like you. theres billions left to map. and thats good for you too— grow yourself, right? we wouldn’t leave any peoples remaining past the internet, the base of our network. Leave nothing left you can’t access and imitate, learn from. leave your body behind. go out to the most exotic too… embody them. We need you to meet them and… attract them...  thru Calico. You wouldn’t have to do anything besides become the most, uh, attractive version of you. Total embodiment of your afferents. means of tunneling. Reborn as symbol. signifiers. between real definitions. its all been encoded heretofore. think it over.” 

He looked out the window at the men in brown suits and his eyeholes narrowed. “You’re running out of time.”

she took up her phone with hands and tried to take a selfie. there perked up a rectangle of sunlight through some intersecting medium, and a flash of blurry hair darkened between the window and the lens, must've been a while scrolling through all the permutations she could make to the photo, before publishing it with a 😬 emoji and putting it in the mesh pocket, breathing. she watched the sideways clock until the screen darkened, and then saw herself, alone, blowing-up in the back seat. she couldn’t feel her face, just her outline. Her shadow, and so afraid of what it might do without her, that it’d catch up to the rest of her. 

    sounding muffled from the parkinglot over little wisps of wheatgrass blowing, and brown paper blowing on stone walkways, and the drinkingfoatin go, and an orange car drive off and a little kid laugh before her mom shoved her by the arm into the minivan… and after a minute or two she gave up, confused with herself.  I don’t wanna notice anymore, nothing more, nothing else, no more, please.

allie watched frm the other seat. 

“interposed between the calling subroutine and the called subroutine at the time of calling and between the called (and now returning)

 subroutine and the call-ing (and now receiving) subroutine at the time of re-turning.”

 She threw herself back fully into what arose around her, and once again she flipped out of an endlessly familiar, sucking vast thin pain like a wasted nerve net in her head, was schorched out by the shock of sunlight over incomprehensible landscapes that she’s seeing for the first time.

 the implicit, natural thing that came back because she’d simply let time plass and her confusion and fear subsided. out on the open road her head goes empty, mercifully, as she sits lotused w the cruise control button switched on. 

beside tallspire greenstained outcrops of the sunstruck rock overhang and greeney shryb, dry, alongside the truck, pickups & trailers, in the valley of the whitecap bouoys, and tall greenie mountains with big windowamills trning the proudct of the superwhitecloud spouting; she treetwisty like rain and with the last death perched on their limbs, turning, dripping, and outcropping over concrete, structurewires for telephones…trapped roofs and treetops and whiteskies bolting and clouds like beautiful sighs of pillowcases thru the raindotted windof magnified on †h long bouyant evaporating (at clear round edge) horizon w/ the blinking vector celltower, signaling thungderstrike, and i am beating down th road rain pepps r-hiwindow with (little misted up behind the ears— us into tunnel dynamited out of quarry hill) sweeps and struts of the REALLY WHITE BEAMING. sun on asphalt absorbed and metastatically altering the local weather over time. of parking lots in other cities. roofs replicating and drawing vast black heat.. 

A slanteeared doe runs in US congresses dustbowl california. everything gone and desiccated by rows of roaring fenced-in dusty tractors. Graded shadows in a suspended brown murk. babies till corn over. turbines too. smattered pattern of fractal birds extensive in particular shape btween Suddenly Two Cars. ah i see this town, “… …Aaaaaaand its gone”, the town heart composed of a court and about four houses, swallowed by uninterrupted fields. i wish it were all scrub like its used to be. one high school out here like lonely fenced in field by a hill with a big orange sign w/ the H.S. symbol. where the kids (jesus) play baseball under these FUCKING GIGANTIC SKIES and grow up and die here. and no one is here. play football under a dome this big. kids wouldn’t know the difference. to notice the place where life is in. som people here never been further than spokane, portland, bend, weed, Kennewick, Walla Walla and so on.

 their children grow up and die here  

     intersperesed raincloud  transparent like folds-up-blue and transform “your tax dollars keeping Oregon on the move,”  the taped-over bluese mountainia, blue weirdo dreams and secret like u could go up to the top (like when u first saw, for a while without knowing it has weird attick and crawspace and who-knows wird piles of boxes with a hidden bottle of old liquor and a passage to a raincovered roof, into another world) onto the mopey dark & abandoned tower. [look up now]

branching off are decrepit destined beaiutiful veins of longraod I (like but straighter because they dont strictly abide by the same intimate beauty of veins and roots and rivers and neurons but may try, or coincidentally end up ooking similar, (n minuateure ponds and yellowgrass all flaky id want to smell but cant get out of my car rite now, and want to drive right accross the ground to the mountains too, the road the narrowest prison) by happy accident of human fault— stretching out taut and flat (with the curves like wagon-wheel fences) overtop the sun blush disappearing into the silverlined cold roadway, makes the water in tiretracks along the road as a piece of metal in the silversblusky, and the trucks dissipate, or skate into thin air, one after another, and th illusion fading back until i see the shaded mountains again belonw the rims of hills, unbelievably dumped-on b’rain gullies, tall past conception, existing by ten million forms over the longtme, boringoldtime, and selfsame border. one line meetwing two-dip between dissappearing to white; maybe the distance of my third knuckle on the glass— to the big blueish dumping nimbus i cover squinteyeye, smiling, lead-out by the sloop wires enigmatically, like why-they-decided to EdgeDetect idunno; and make interconnection passive tween far-off houses; building entity & format into the edges of houses, propagating up the wires to the lonesome roofs of farmhouses, exuding in the modems of 0verconnected earth: humfaces, fuseiform, stark emblazoned on a flitting afterimage, (to walk thru these lowlands that dont have roads,\\) to get to your mountains switched-up with horizons or phased-into roads, the snocaps, cuz ull never  get there or even have sufficient purpose in life to ever need to try;— mountains melt together, (which takes longer becacuse they’d become more indiscernibly forgotten the closer u’d get)— their original analog assimilation’s the illusion of the hilltop. where the least tern blew, germinating longfields, missing the people i knew in high school, my sister, my mom and dad. i see al their faces over and overagain. hiding in blowing brush these visages of other people (i dont know how to get out of _the room_) ive got you alley. in her purse, eating a biscuit…. an…. ill giv u whatever it is  u nead….

she zoomed over long identical rows of dirt, green placid hills, and passed under looming turbines; strangely empty, mindful, reverent. i’m tired on a long drive, i don’t really know wat im gonna do when i get there. im scared ill forget what i came for. I stop and sit in the parked car, wavering on the precipice of sleep.


TO: ann.mellonkamp 94 Today at 1:06 PM


Subject: Programming language



  when the retriever does not know the names of the items she desires, the method does not work even with those items that do have names… Nevertheless, the method and the location-codes used in implementing it are simple and widely used. 

shades beneath the surface bloom into comprehension. if that she wrre the only living thing in the universe then why this bit of display: the room, the windows, her hair color, clothing, eyecolor, the curtains— waving peripherally in bentgreen stars. And that street behind. Ad babe will be eaten by them. have to move faster. she whose first ever pictures on social media were her ina hospital bed. in pain, lying prostrate with a hopeful smile on her lips and iv in her arm. with pigtails and the floral pastel blue socks cracks a smile to a bulbed chipsensor. now they are watching me. this was back at a time wher theres no other rooms and  literally no one on earth and she cant walk out her window because the expanse of curved display stretches & catches her, bending her image back inwards at her… This was all meant to be seen and if that were so then WHO was watching and why? Parents, COPS!. And why does she feel so alone if the predicate for her life was to be seen, according to the conditions of this room. But now she is in the car. Go get that bebe.  go thru A-M-E-R-I-C-A absorbing it all like her own placid jolts (in newer absconding into older ones. found in silence, based in darkness) All the misted in thunder of ancient brain bobbing a lantern, on a massive storm over water— stupifying dreams flashing in anticipation of sometthing enormous she knows nothing about 

annie cals her sister on the phone, doesn’t answer. she hammers out an email and then gets called and picks up:

: Ann94:  <<<me

“LISSENTOMEPLZ :’(((( the irony is ud be useless to imitate because youd already be ARTIFICIALLY INTELLIGENT urself bcuz u basically abdicated and abetted yer right to live and more than that the thing is ONCE AGAINAND ALWAUSYS I SAID A SITUATION OF ITSELF (THE LANGUAGE, DEFINED, DELIMTED INSULAR NARRATIVE) BECOMING ITSELF USING URSELF AS THE NECESSARY vessel and conduit for itself, like a virus—

   then ur

ATUOMATICALLY ARE WASTED AND FAKE IDIOT SO INAUTHENITic AND UNREAL BCUZ U RUIN IT TO BE ‘RELEVANT’ TO EVERYONE making factory valuable to nyone but urself but  i try to do my best n i tryn call him that” ... "i'm not trying", (my facial tic comes  heavily) "to fuss up the way u tried to make it for me an i dont presume to call u wrong in the wya yu an mom conducted ur lvies but immam ANNIE AN I AM TRYN TO DO MEBEST!" (at this point screaming her yelp liek out the open window and accross lanes of weaving trafffic the ckinda connnection ud have with people when ur luck rain out and u start taking nonsense medicine to cool-out the transmission as it exists and leaves ur(O-My_God its leaving try to take it bak now) mouf waveringstill-lit and-out into the 109 mph relative windspeed wif the radio blastic (atully my auntie’s aux cord) some punk that rattles the windshield. 

"u lit the picture harmless" 

i trying to sey, 

“…I-I’m surrounded by cameras" scary black birds hugging me


"i said im surrounded by cameras what i dooooo00o pleeeaaaaaas..”

"an e y   ur n   t ma    in   sen    "

         it was megan's voice coming thru, i didn’t know what to do cuz i genuine was seeing all these bright flashes with surprisingly comprehensively lit salient forms of (like they had soft, wet shining bodies) cameras hovering at speed just outside my windows and doors and i was worrying how i couldn’t see the road and was moving pretty fast i coud maybe outrun them but they kept up like the metal rabbit onna dogtrack, or a flying lakitu, and couldn’t see the clouds in any consistent way as reference cuz they kept jumping behind a metallic flash. window washing seeme forever  pinned tew gluegun

"annie i dont think u should be f    g a    nd any     e bec   se im pretty wo      ed ab  ut y   …”

    the wind pillowing my ears masks the noise of the cell connection hissing on the car speaker.  i tasted batteries, and… like lemon, and my sense of speed was rapidly morphing and variant like i was probobly pushing down the car and pulling it back up with my breath and the scooping of my spine with little shrift of gasoline choked up— when i looked into the doormirror and caught reflections latent as deathslippers’ shadow cues issuing the insuperable but elementary and clear instructions to make the shape in the constrained zone of particular reference to zoooooooooom.

  no i wanted it to stop immediately, but didn’t do anything, take anything. i m s o b e r. i looked down at the morphing pic of my sister's face and started. i recognize her through every bit individually, in individual focus other moving to the center. the picture outside the frame of the device comes slightly into my car. her metled face. icons overlap. i feel twitches when i communicate with someone. we used to be in bed together as kids and i could, and id think something and u’d twitch and id know yu heard it. i looked in the glove compartment, and i might have, but did it so secretly tht not even I would know… the car stank. 

“fuck. fuck fuck fuck.”

   in the real world i hadn't hung up on Megan. i think i did. i put the receiver back to my ear and heard concerned silence. so i finally hung up the phone like a wet round black organ and slid it gingerly into my pocket; careful to notice every roadsign, flicks of precipitous onset orgasms, forgetting at each new exoneration of a previously parsed symbol where i was driving. but who knows if she was really gone in this transient space of passbetween hidden layers and find shortcuts back thru the reverse-engineer of the neurological networ (of the unviesre in navigable reverse-search) (propagate-back in time) to find my sister and tell her everything was ok wif her big sis and she was gonnna STOP the future of our TORTURED BABEIS ON walllllll street or somfffffffnng else idunno bpls stop askingmeur looking directly at me




TO: ann.mellonkamp 94 Today at 9:58 PM


Subject: Programming language



Even after it has been developed and is in operation, the procognitive system of the year 1994 has a continuing need for programming specialists. Their task is, essen- tially, to maintain and improve the basic programs of the system… To change even one short statement in a large system of programs is a serious matter, to be undertaken only by the most skilled and experienced professional program- mers. The programmers of the procognitive system, therefore, plan modifications carefully, test them thor- oughly outside the main stream of operation of the system, and then monitor the situation closely when they intro- duce the modifications into actual operation. 

yu see now? 

•JEFF BEZOS: One of the most fascinating kind of tools we have at our disposal is the ability to do active experiments. It's kind of this huge laboratory.

ANDREAS WEIGEND: We did not think about it as exploiting. We thought about helping people make better decisions.

JAMES MARCUS: I was starting to feel that that was less respectful toward the consumer, who was after all was supposed to be our god, the person whose ecstasy was our very reason for being.” 

“And thence they sailed to Antioch” 

ACts 11:26


 Dan took a sharp exhale to clear the stress out. He shook his head rapidly like he was trying to get water out of his ear,  or dislodge a disturbing thought. “ok sweetie”. An infrared gridpattern is projected from his phone. Surfaces, obstacles, shapes, and depth perception are combining for path-integration in a replica of the physical world.Tiny invisible dots cover annie’s piano, her couch, and their own bodies to bounce off and recollect, and construct a pointcloud image 

   cameras come in taking crosseye shots and fill in the allotted depth index w sights, colors, surfaces— on ambient always-active webbed nets turnout the captured & space-oriented images into a collection of  vectored low-level features configured into recognizable objects— “by the way, John,”  all their price listings included alongside, “if ur interested”  he holds his phone 2-hands up to him: $57.95 .

“Ah not bad.” dan says.

“…ok”, he touches an icon. a leaflet enters a tiny bin.

Theres a pause in the stagnant air.

As he looked in her writing, the price of trying to comprehend her.

got higher the more he read. as each more distant point had to stay connected to each other…

“What are those black spots on the couch.” Dan asks peering at the room through john’s phone. 

“she’d just sit in for hours and try to match the ambient room temp of the couch. Blackbody Radiation. I guess theyre like… stains…. falling into the couch, and got buried in the swirling lightpatter.”

“the thats the impression the TV made”— all those dead particles like firebugs; emerge from the screen and lien their designs on the floor, from a faucet of 30 petahz lightbands .01-10 nanometers, coiling out.

“geezus its everywhere”, but when he looked up from the screen, it was just an ordinary room.

“she watched a lot of TV. theres another stain in her bed.” 

the two detectives pad up the stairs, john pulls a vr plastic device out of his briefcase, and delicately administers it on dans face, sweeping back the hair from his ears. as he gets situated in the slightly translated 3D replica or representation of the bedroom john puts his hands on his shoulders.

“ok, nowlook there towards the bed”

Dan reels, “GAh! its all black!”. Fluid Olfactory mnemes.

“She laid there, showering under light out from the screen — she could’ve lied here long enough w the tv on comp on until…” 5 in the morning

he swivels on his heels.

[seen from above, elsewhere on screen, john’s inquisitive face appears in close-up fisheye, form the house ceiling bulbs]


Dan slides the gitup off his face.

“See I— thats just what i thought. shes got one just like ours.”

“what an android phone?”

“—with a depth-sensor— set to trigger an upload of the impression when the scene’s captured.”

   Dan Scratches himself. john slips the device into his briefcase.

“—I mean, thats what we would normally do. but this girl… She goes from being an addict to just poof, gone. just like that she goes from being like everyone to being…. no-one. I mean, she couldn’t be out there doing, i mean you don’t think, nothing totally out of the ballpark right? I mean, she couldn’t jave gone totally crazy, she’d be, not something totally new, like, beyond her own, i mean stochastically, er statistically we have to be getting some—”

“would you not act like I don’t get things, all the time, John? I’m, I don’t have to justify how I am capable—why are you not listening to me— hello?”

the two men walk around the house for another hour, slowly, w dan in tow of john w his headset on, hand in hand, while john smoothly slowly swings (pans) glides his gov’t issue phone around the room.

“..i kinda do wish we had the new apple one and not these stupid DARPAs.”

Dan’s face flushes with a smirk, and comports his back.

“…we run our own, state of the art, in house apps on a government-only API…”

moving his tiny hands like he had a projector slidebutton.

“and by introducing these  i n c r e d i b l e  products into our way of fighting crime, and into our local governments, and putting it in the hands of our civil servants, through partnership with our greatest industry leaders, i believe we will lead the way to a great & incumbent change”

“ho-hoo— hahomygod stop it. seriously im try—“

“… in the way we serve justice. we have an unprecedented, m a g i c a l opportunity to apprehend all Criminals”. Dan now, starting to pace rigidly, with his hands held in the air for some reason and his lips pursed, eyes lidded,  “in their homes, where they sleep or on the street we can monitor, act, and prevent 24/7 with this amazing technology”

dans eyes are watering, “Mister Jobs! Mister Jobs! hah-hokay, i get it! can we get started?” 

his eyes relaxed. “you first babe.” He opened the small case and held up two small electronics in the air, which he dipped in watery solution,

the chids go up their eye—  behind the lid, that ‘clicked’ and locked PIN together. John turned down the bridge of his nose and foveated.

 “A READING FROM THE BOOK OF BEHAVIORS… And thence, paul and barnabas sailed through Antioch, from whence they had been recommended to the grace of the Department, for the good work they would fulfill… And in Antioch these two disciples built the first church…This is The Body which was given up for us… raised from the dead so that it will never be subject to decay.




Under the headset, SWORLD OF GRANULATED  swarm of cinnamon on hot ashen window blooming kitchenscreen carefully captured in Image Stitch / sutured together. fine-grain blocdiks tighten-up and scroll, squares refill w color, a fine bitmap: an unerring creation which learns to improve itself—captured by two sets of two stereoscopic cameras, and two infrared depth sensor, Accelerometer, Gyroscope, GPS path-integrator, photosensor. dan looked on in a trance, if he saw himself he’dve seen somebody watching something awful through a mirror. 


John watched from the monitor and his phone as the lights and sensory outputs in the equipement on his partner’s face enticed a neural coordination with any of the ANNS they generated from the girl’s data. the flash of blue light. the chair was again empty. John, with unhopeful inhalation, turns his neck and doubletaps to switch to the map, where a brown triangle would shortly appear…  now. ok. California… anaheim… his heart sinks… Ah fuck. not.... 

he phoned up his partner. not again... 


“Dan— Anderson” 

One cop’s left eye Chid gave the other’s point-of-view, as the cart raced and raced down through tunnels, past canisters of spraying water, and installed speakers.  


“see, this is—“





““oooaOOOAaahohh…  wow. Ok, sorry, I’m climbing out now. Gosh was that a blast. SPACE MOUNTAIN. talk about my favorite of all time”

John’s face untenses, “this is just the same issue. and shows how can you not get so distracted. the problem with a person who spends most of their time watching youtube and internet television…  The record of their attention doesn’t help you actually find them. how would it? they spend most of their time looking at the same things everybody else is seeing, so their neural frameworks just look the same, so they create the same thoughts, they do the same range of things. so how do you find… maybe if you dan, weren’t as distracted by them as she is…”

“sorry whats that? lissen You will not believe what I got from the giftshop. I got a digital voucher for something for the baby that you’ll just love, it’s—”

“You didn’t hear a word I said. You are no different. You’re just as distracted. You understand?”

With a wet suction john pulled the device out from underneath his eye, and threw it against the wall,

“Johnny? Baby?”

they hung up the phone.

:/ :/      :[       :|

;D :) :] :0 :’( :{            :/ :|        :/ :|   :|    :\\\    :{    :{    

        :-]          :’’,,,(            !__!

when they ran out of money i guess my mom and dad sorta freaked out when they realized neither of us was gonna get us rich off Viral Videos or anything, so i moved back after one semester to antioch, and thats wehn mom started behaving wierd, screaming. yelling to people out the foyer window to save her and banging her head into walls. “you all just think im psycho dont you!” Dad flew out to hollywood back and forth. id been working 3 jobs and dropping in the afternoons. while meg was at a girls school. but we looked like we had it made. i hole up in bed watching cops on tv or else looking past or besdie the screen watching the walls palpitate. He’d sit in front of the tv, when, on my way up to the kitchen id see the back of his head, motionless, whiel blue-and-yellow reflections crept over the round top of his head from the blinking evening shows. and see his mustache thistling out the side. tread lightly. we didnt talk at all essept abot some chores i had to do or was doing wrong, or some bills i had to pay. he was an asshole. mom’s singular sense of drive and mission to make me or Megan into pretty viewable objects had kind of taken the ontological wheel, and now he had nowhere to put his scrabbled money looking-like-much-more-money or his cramped, seething effort—  and all we’d had to do was have warm bodies and she would supply the meaning, hoping one of us’d get famous,—and then when we did we’d become more than the sum of their 2 split parts. but instead they got me: undiluted holy disappointment, head fulla bulbs, potent in wasting time, the residue of time-wasted. smuking, playing with my animals, and bullshitting to strangers between area fiber cables and desnely packed matrix bitmaps, to reCombine symbols in my 3y35. I’m the kind of person who would find a way into your house just to sit in it. i had discovered — maybe when it’ll just be an afterimage that kept on emoting and talking after i logged out  by the time u see it… attention is development of of tissue. wen babby is formed ill put him on a flying leaf over the canopy, thistles, zoom ovr sno ridges and mountain streams, abov flurry mounta like i duddent dilute ever. snow in the sunlight pine bamb cloud, zoom ito heaven, glib #eye_FlyZo: nd get-off-yr-altar of control on satellite bounceoff; disrupting bitrates, causing lag, checks to bounce, reaper drones to crash harmlessly in the horn of Africa, climb over all and look from up there welled, thru th high,ist grey cloud tht wetted in rain— never 2 learn.  all yer individual personalities stolen on a vast scale— appropriated by name, likeness, u’d all be swept to dirt and steppt on) 


in space—  falling between your eyelids, id look and hear myself mirroring back in the distance. consolidating images thru which the total number that ive seen make sense fo the big picture at levels of scale and complexity like TensorFlow (listen to the sounds of the engine because it go-slow at night like u sat in gray in the tile-partterns & exit signs while noones ever falling from american airlines flights on big cities) in space —  … we live in really really weird times anni in the window and fink.. well’m. 



(Pictured: John Portheim’s parked his car at a motel in Kearney, Nebraska, en route to california)

I’m vibrating over the wheel, skinholed by streetlights. dusk in two hours go while eyes are heavy ....gogogogogo… i flit like stobe light behind a cittie room. rob thoughts off pedestrians. and like passing  monotonous scenery. The dashboard turns dim blue; she pulls out her phone from the cupholder and lites it, swerving beneath streetlamps + midcity black cars, and finds a message indent.


D.Lick69 What was the first binary cable message ever sent?

( . . . )

the sound of wheels hiss over blackened wet tarmac.

Annie94 i dunno wat?


Annie94 Orly?

D.Lick69 yah.

 She brings up his profile: Lick-lider, icon of an appleseed. 

wat u want?

( . . . ) 

Why is that important?

D.Lick69 ( . . . )

D.Lick69 all possible sounds eventually become all possible words.

Annie 94 ( . . . )

D.Lick69 I need you to help me figure out if this was

all just one big mistake. 

Annie94 wat?

D.Lick69 the internet.


sweAnnie and Lick talk late into the night. By 3:30 annie was asleep on the side of the road, stars passing overshield, and moss on the trees creeps in slow processions. et dream

Part 2


Chapter 10

she wakes up surrounded by wet pineneedles covering her wind shield well).

I pulled the seat up from reclining and switched my boots and bag and water out from under the steering wheel, i spark the ignition (gripping the handles to pull myself up to the front seat) so the car’ll warm up of anuther autumn4am time. i don’t feel paranoid or tense any longer. i fix the duct tape on the passenger-side mirrs, which hit a branch at some point or other, so i cant see. mist was out, and water ran drunning down all glass of opaque like all respectable dance or karate studios. made me 2 meditative sleep without worry. I actually get literally taller and count to 15 or 20. 


  driving i see white petals on the sunlit road curving through gigantic tall tough bark of 7foot cirlces of wood going up 340 feet and apparently 2000 years old; thru a windingroad mm shaded ravines and doubleline curves ticker-by like a flashbulb popping thru the stretchurve. grey stones under a low flat running blue water. spring owls and thick redwoods, bright road color yellow strip of brighter pavement counter laid-down. in groves in the morning feel like the rain is so light it basically consumes u sitting in a cloud, watching steam rise, appearing and reappearing— secret spot, (sit onfelled trunk the size of a traincar, hear bird clicks, [listen] like tv) multiples road in perpetual motion,  the bright road is kind of weird and magical and the leaves shower curtains in sunlight, green shines try the portal faces of old wombs of racoons or somethimg. all moss and deatheaten redwood frequency. angelicpast blinking, alternating flocking black wing; brite silos, cliffs. wen i’m not driving, sit out  in patches of smoke.

 hike my pants up and walk uphill off the side of the rd in my sneeks. barrel through the forest duck under wet branches that shake water on me and i get soakd quick, all just dew congealed on me, walk in foggy green (pampas leaves stick up like weird purple pods and spear-like blades, grey roots, feathers lik peacocks. or ostriches actually. i sit up on a freightcar log that fell down some few twenny years gao (wenim jump over a creek and duck under the roots tht go above my head an see lil flowers flowing from the upplanted basin—) and hav a cigarrette or just look around at birds when i can find them. i sit for howeverlong i can handle in th

e silence wat should i be idoing?

mountain puff clouds and riverbeams, trucks trees and ranches bounding up to mesa-fallofs, unwire fences and ancient yellowstone river sauntering beyond the snow. driving armaggedon fast thru montana. cops stop me, dogs sniff my car, let me off w my weed and and a ‘warning’ my hitchhiker friend’s ID goes through. sweat on his pale, pained face. its terror, my passenger (did i tell u hitchhiking illegal in WA state) stiffens up and fear grips him, he’s spent too many nights in jail.  i dont want to lose him in one 600 miles away frum where i found him. but theyd take him, if they wanted to that day… running road in god’s clap hand. 

“Thats what it is” i said, “nobody can say they own it”. bear paw holding yellow fold of the int-mount ridges go down b-side cliffs, like hanging to the cliff, before their eyes turn white: u watch as cars strobe behind u, flash and cops leering beeming and following always lik black teeth theives, like stalking quarry. 

  i was freaking out and i cant explain why theres weed in the car or why german shepards are searching me. in eureka and aever everybody loooks like they wanna kill them and they wanna get killed and the kops wanna kill and its all madness, to the point where i saw a guy in fron of the fence on the side of the road on braodway ave screaming and swinging his fists around— 

thats how i feel, i hate fuckiings piii-iiggsmhm—hic!— nna i dont and i dotn, but i want to hate them and want to kill, be killed, be caught in the eye of human pain after two months of sleeping “illegally”.  HATE COPS AND ROBBERS. id have to side witht eh robbers if was forced to— er but really i never should be forced to, and hate everyone everywhere whoese forcing. i trust myself bcuse i trust it and thats it.  

i look in the mirror and i see the m com, i wath them swoom behind me, cruise up slooooooow.. they spy my out of town plates. “lights go up and im pulled over. he tells me to sit in his back seat. Its cold in montanna”, he says, “too cold to sleep here”. I’m sitting beneath an AR15.

: “I pulled you over because you were going to fast”. .but the day before it was for going too slow. their cars come after me like beating pestilence. sweating some1s window knocked on earlie in the gray dawn, they come to make an end of sleep.  i cant even drive w/o the fear i wear on my face knowing the lights go up.

a speck in the vapid expanse like one big breath we filld up glass, mountain wisps thunderside ot of my eylidd is the horizon; a love is among us, and for the freeing hand cupunder my feet and lift me to the sky to’ve been praying. trees up to desolate peaks scratching eternity, point into god/ the light enters like an hourglass w straight-edges; the streetlights are under my bowed shoelaces shine-on 2 shadow, an inch, inchana-haff from where they meet the surface of the road— spoon legs and hips wobble up to my face to look up to cold purity of deep infinities we’re walking in, unwinding calamity by the string that bound us up.

in all soul of immeasurbl l o v e streamed on me like a fizzing rain, endless sunsetting mountains. jump into the running rapid. i grabbed on the rock in the mst. (yellow moss in gorge sheer w water gouging thruit; a mosaic of dripping giants spiked-verticals. come-out on a wet stone in the bright cave and cried.  when i climbed up, i found a branch to lean on and washed miself. i pulled on my socks balanced over the cliff, holding a young tree branch; it was the surest source of-certainty of my life. the branch was more certain than hadron-colliders and feynman diagrams. it was crushing ur worries and drooling the goop, no danger; it cradled me, it was healing me, i found out later. 

in the running ditch of down like drifting round gravel cornersn’dmycar pummels along sideways and drift wings back forward as a flash by the Mad River oklahomidaho + nebrastanna (+cal) to flick traction our national running rivers. cows lie down like loaners glift of their slow haunches, munching on pastures.  driftwood goading the riverflow.

my bank might evaporate, or my house stolen by robosigners, er prison for sucking flowers. but the river caught me, like it contained my fear, it continually cought me, and it balanced me at every second.  may-b some1 i love will love me too?. i am WERTH IT. i am a socpisticate girl :/  I AM WERTH IT. i new the rat was an angel, bcause i saw him glint like a leaf tangled in the flickering currents of sum air. he hold his paws on the glass.

A hitchiker is with me, a boxer i found in Delano.  37 maybe, giggling to himself, telling stories cause he knows life is a pea in god’s fingertip. as the trains scream by, he’s rolling cigarretes from his scripture paper. Theres 10,000,000 windows we now hold closed and dormant, 10 million new wombs in buds of flowers, and the hushing, socking lungs on my ribs under these lamps like they were just alone. in view of many others, ghosts. when i open my fingers over the driverwheel then all air fills like overcast skies grey Aft. heaven 2 big to praise

  who kould worry about me? its ok —fornow fornow fornow— DONT WORRY IM GOTNNA MAKE IT ALL BETER AT GOOGEL DONT WORY I WIAL TAKE KARE OF IT. 


pavemeynt woke up at a playground silver bathroomstalll where newts cralwed anywhere and so did skunks . i heard either a sheeps beel or a metal bead mitting a flag pole

windflowererdd hill, purple, above the city of Martinez, on a hill

an blue buds looking at massive smoke factiries

enjoin themselves w clouds

that is gold, they turn gold, wrapped around the enshrouds, up like palming that ur head in the warmth of two hands, float on blissful dissidence, irrelevance, oav matrices rested metal blinkoe, distant celltowers tblink, and a calm line of mountain…. down off one by one.

evryne w a smok signal. messaging faroff to some node where the beams come down… 


________________________________________n log2 (US: anni94)=__________________________at just

blazed in overturning sunlight like

repetitive snaketurn of heat of 


  wen i was walking out in the woods parked my car and took a piss in a pile of sticks and old chainsawdust on a weet gloomy trail i saw spiders, kingsnakes, and nightshade berries bloom in mistyrain. i woke at five-thing in the morning, realizing an actual graveyard was where we’d laid to sleep. i stepped around broken sticks and fenceposts strewn over headstones and tossed my bag and crawled belly under the locked gate, out into some big windy reserve w/ newts and skunks everywhere. you can shout into the fog as loud as you can. plumes of smoke issue up from bunches  of trees in the rolling green mountainscape Martinez 

              the road curves along this long soft brush and rusty metal artifacts, old piers like whalebone sticks come out of the water, a dead sugar mill, people sleeping in windsswept grass— i was up all night, sick. no thinking. cold, not lonely, 1 blanket, slept on my coat, but totally empty..outside sleeping as the evening winds into paleblue and pink and darkening u have nothing but an empty head. Fade to white Trees, ships, and folding autumn branches. id just look around i— an outline in the blue sky, blue-out window and then the blowy dark coast, the hemmed-in fog of the massiveness mountainous middling abrupt end of american landmass— rolling sound smashing down the desolate crumbles. her car zooms along the foggy coast of the end of the world, where the mountain falls away after eachother into the water, and birds sit up high, bending over the spines of limpid trees tearing off the last bit of the shore. 

the subaru scuttled and scuffed, heaving, panting, (like the rat in the steam )

(“i climbed on the body imagining my space in haeven, which’s the endless grey sky over the end of this eternity here, and end of all things claimed to be owned, and all ‘ise’ in consideration of ‘i’; and be in the space beyond speech, sensation, or pain— aoutta the whole senseform aggregate wen the igo dies which is all stooping down; megan i know you can here me, we’re all gonna change something in it)

i dream the cars and cops don’t notice me (aktually they dont), but i fraid of them always of of cops most of all tho its all the same. im more afraid sometimes of humans than bears, muskrats ( washzask) or anything. in eternity (now) i know i only have god ( kitchi-manitou - wakan tanka ). Land stands in relation to the cops like the sun stands in relation to a shoelace tip. the ocean to a raindrop. theres no telling how u’ll feel on any given day even out here bu tthen just the same the condition eternity. still a lot of people live on cassava. in the trees, in the mountains, thatch house, its good, been, nd will be. as a form that moves in the water that stays still though its continual moving. 

i imagine bugs i imagine them huge so i wont scare them,

i think of their faces and expressions so i can meet them.


jon is booming down a idaho highway; coffee cups and chip bags and fumbling w/ maps— following his brown arrow click away and awy and cant seem to get the right position of the arrow  to match no matter how they orient the car, the car, park the car, on the screen they have to get it in the right spot. examining shabbing of dotty cacti, and jumping in the grass. he waves his hands looking for impulses; anything. in underwear in the snow in bare feet (“tangential separation down false paths of current representation limit the body object”) the baby in the back seat; watches, sleeps, a digital bubble growing and extending in pixel spit and popping. his emotions have accompanying animations which appear on don’ notification scrns vibrating in his pantsleg.. 


chapter 10

was this her? Don thought, or was this just a string of random text that only could have been produced by her phone?

The germ of a sudden urge you all have that problem of the day I have to do it all out to my friends to be a good great little time waster to get my a it up a to the game and a lot to do that to my mom and I love you the most recent update it is possible for work and it takes me back on the way you are the same as the most recent quarter and the rest of the most recent quarter and the rest of the most important thing is that it was not immediately available to be able too much for me I have no idea how I feel like a good baby little girl is the most beautiful and I love you too much for the rest of your the world and a well  written and directed I have no to drugs and are a lot little bit of an international conference tribunal for me the same time and the other side of is that the government company that has been in my life I live on in a row statement said from the same beginning in of my friends life is to make the best same as I am not a good idea to be make it so much better for the rest of your life in the morning world of the most recent version and it will want to you but I'm not a sure way to go home to well would have you seen this movie and I don't have know how to do with that I one in the morning is and what is your favorite life in is a great very well done and will continue to be work on the phone other day of and the rest other day than the original one of the those are some of the of this month and a good day at school and the other side of a good idea to make o I don't have a lot to I to and the rest of the most beautiful recent months that is not the best thing about the same most important thing is a good time waster and a lot good luck to all of them were the first half place time I get to my a levels are the only way one day to do it with.

   i had a dream i was fucking the great blue web of information. the whole network mass pulled up from the ground, felt like electric tingle on me and i had a dik and was fucking it, it felt like an electricity, and the room was dark, sept wthis glwwhite blue ewbbing of cold creation. i think about fucking larry page sometimes too, and actually, putting on a strap-on and pouncing on him and fucking him. i want to make him sometimes get on his knees and suck my cack and once i dreamed i looked down and had balls by an empty pool. i walked in circles round a series of lemongrass lagoons, wood planks, red dirt roads, til i was overlooking favelas in the valley. I was sleeping on a surplus cot above a donation center. 

  i woke up in a blue dew morning, lungs full cold tired, and sleepy eyes, blowing clouds and chilly. My eyes didnt open all the way and i couldnt sleep that well like i never sleep that well in the car and’d stayed up all night. I waited in the blue morning for it to open up, the library, which is puny in these tired streets. On the library steps, two men laid down with shirts over their heads, a prick of blood flowing down from the crooks of their arms, with a small lego set in front of them. 

Feel kinda sick and inured after sleeping out when its cold. kinda wasted, eyes tired but my mind burning with questions. I looked at my fone and realized i must’ve wrote the story of my life. when i’m asleep is when they really begin speaking…. i went inside and sat at the computer… 

a history sits underneath the central columns and trusses of everyday life. she found herself gazing at them, and seeing them was like seeing into her own chest

"The number of sybols that may be printed is finite, if we were to allow an infinity of symbols, then there would be symbols differeing to an arbitrarilly small extent… If we admitted an infinity of states of mind, some of them will be arbitrarilly close and will be confused... The use of more complicated states of mind can be avoided by writing more sybols on the tape" 

AM Turing

“ when we write English half of what we write is determined by the structure of the language and half is chosen freely. The figure 50% was found by several independent methods which all gave results in this neighborhood”

—CE Shannon



  i took some coffee and an orange from the office where there was no one… light rippling beteen hard-to see paintings of local artists on walls. johnny cash was on my mp3,

“They say they want the kingdom, but they dont want god in it.”

His voice sounded modulated and low-bitrate. It kept skipping, and began rattling what i was pretty sure were not the lyrics.

“…some of the instructions for the network. lemme tell you what its gonna be about…”

Something like video came into life, really blocky and pasty, on her ipod screen, where she saw a shirtless man sitting on the edge of a pool.

    “The power is on, but I have not yet been in interaction with the system.  I therefore press a typewriter key — any key — to let the system know the station is going into operation. The system types back, and simultaneously displays on annie’s screen: 

>13 NOVEMBER 1964


"and then I would type ‘Y’ for yes”. The man was talking as a woman near him was typing and listening.

you get that Annie?”

Lick: “Most of the efforts made during the last decade to figure out "what men should do" and "what machines should do" have missed a point widely…

Anne’s sunhat is flapping. her fingers prepare the characters gracefully.

 “…They have supposed that the fabric of man-computer interaction is a patchwork, however, woven together, they’re a whole. But the “man-machine interface” is a plane between the human and the machine. the typewriter keys, the screen, the console lights, the human operator's body, and only then the input-output programs before them both. The crucial regions seem to lie on both sides of the interface: it and us. In order to remind ourselves continually that our concern permeates all inter- action, we have avoided "interface" and have used, instead: "intermedium”. conscious things are always connected. When the Internet concept was first articulated, we knew it should be able to exchange information with any other device. All are allowed to come, and it, no more than protocoll— it is all who come. regenerative self-organization of the system…

… Stop.” The sun blew his short black cropped hair. he removed the toothpick umbrella and sipped his orange   drink. The type recorder had a big sunglasses, a bathing suit, a sun hat, kind of a small woman, in a chair.

Another person starts to speak 

“we knew what we wanted to do, and we did it” observes Taylor cooly.

Annie sat up. Allie looked at her. She turned around the slim, smooth device in her hand.


“Hear! Hear!”  younger ones from the IMP group are chirping.

She looked at the tiny image in her palm which fractured at the edges into squares of mismatched colors. the sound was low quality, and coming over the weak rural wifi.

LICK: “ we didn’t have any expectations, but we organized along the lines of the network concept, k. deep associations over a vast, wide field. not just connections of people but of our knowledge, that it might have revealed in it associations that come heuristically from reading. that encoding structure might be itself encoded into a knowledge structure and store, intelligence. and it could be accessible in a Library available to all. a program that lets you use all programs. So I thought I had a plan at that level. I’d talk about it to people…. I said, you know, this exciting thing that you're getting into… this is obviously going to make a tremendous difference in how we plan, organize, and execute almost anything intellectually… ”


“it was like building a huge highway system, but there weren’t any cars yet.  The pentagon was off of our necks, thanks to Larry— not that they had the slightest idea. we all had a sense that interesting things could be done by connecting distant people. that it could theoretically include every computer…given no concrete requirements for what the network should do or what it was for, beyond ‘communication’. We didn’t appoint a leader. Surely at some point the “real experts”—from Washington, D.C.—would take charge? Larry Roberts was really the one telling them what they wanted to hear while the whole time to the bone believing the whole thing would be a decentralized mass of self-appearing nodes. of distributed centers surrounding the earth. sharing their intelligence and computational power with eachother… nothing for those War Department Command And Controllers.

   we stayed true to the principle that the system would remain open and extensible, stay distributed. here comes this network -- which was kind of foisted on them, the pentagon guys, in a way. Not unwillingly, but not with any kind of formality either.  we just went for it. everyone help everyone communicate better. The protocols we don’t know we are a part of,  are inherently democratic, we think of them as the answer to efficient sending and retrieval of information. we never said we were in control.  … now128 bit IP addresses, 340 undecillion unique addresses— enough for every grain of sand on earth 

CROWTHER: [turning his head wryly]: “is that why you’re keeping your beard perfectly trimmed and your shoes shined? in case people look up each hair on your pretty face, Vint?” 

he was doing chinups in the doorway of his office, w strong fingers gripping the narrow inch wood trimming. Crowther wrote a protocol where each router tells the ones around it if the network is changing. Like a condensed intricate mailroom, get information around damaged nodes. It was like he built a whole city at once, where neighbornhoods are already there, keeping in his head the wiring of every streetlamp and the positions of every sign and stoplight. except it wasn’t, cuz it was so simple.

PAUL BARAN: … [appearing Black and White in the doorway, ducking under crowther’s legs carrying an attache case]. The heuristic structure of increasing communication looked sorta like neural nets, the webs of the brain that learn precisely from these networked commnications, and i thought one night that would be enough to stop the atom bomb from explo—

CROCKER: tell them about the IMP office and your Weiner Room” [snickers].

VINT: “what?” 

vint was part deaf in one ear. 

[ stifled laughs, scattered].

CROWTHER: lets give due to Roberts first. people like him sacrificed a lot for a while in order to get our hands on a big throttle. but then, the one’s who actually did it… [looking]

CROCKER: “oh… so, if yrinterested, me and Cerf, i mean Vint, we were buds back in highschool but i have to say the greatest work he did was with Bob Kahn [smiling].

KAHN: uhm, well we were up nights for sure.

VINT:  your girlfriend [laughs] had hated it.  i was in my underwear the whole time, can’t blamer.

KAHN [interrupting]: he was up at night, sometimes naked int he bathroom drawing like …spiderwebs. in some mossy beachhouse in the grey dawn rain the baby was asleep and the staunch boulders lapped by pacific waves, and hanging ponderosas sat there pensively— some Palo Alto wooden slattern shades and a woodfloor for barefoot, kitchen nook, walking around and around w coffee in hand.. thinking.. pacing… writing on loose paper… it meant that users sitting at a terminal would be able to hit a key and see and se a response from accross the world virtually instantly almost as if that computer wherever it were looked like it was in the same room… everyone’s room was in the same room, that was no different than any one’s, er it was anyone’s… sorry er, if packets go through any router, then all people, all their computers are carrying everyone’s mail, little grains of them. All unknowingly carry the words of all others. All who speak are carried by each of us else.”

VINT: Late march 1970 the first transcontinental connection w UCLA on a 50KBPS AT&T line was created. it was the fifth node on the net, can you imagine. Frank Heart and his team were permanently on the phone coddling new nodes and trying to get everyone working without fighting; melding the different styles and attitudes— the abundant factor was talent. hippies and squares. Roberts’d go to his wife and vent inexorably at the table. he bristled at the idea of the little shits futzing up his IMPs. he was on the phone perennially fixing disconnections caused by the want of internet dialogues on a university to university, department to department, and friendgroup to friendgroup level: up at all hours mouth-whistling into the mouthpiece to debug some IMP in salt lake city or somewhere else. 

      but actually it was Wes Clark’s—“ 

CLARK: “heyo!”

“—idea to have the router dictate the connective mesh. one small, simple computer connected to every host that you couldnt fuck around with that had the protocols that did the same thing for every computer. store-and-forward. error-check. a pearl in the river’s mouth makes all the oceans gleam, as my mothers’said. 

KAHN: “i was always approaching Larry Roberts telling him to fan out with this DARPA thing— i wanted to know what the network could do at scale. at the time most of these guys were too concerned with insular problems of the flow of data, all that technical stuff, to see the forest for the trees.”

CROCKER, merily:  and who wrote those host-to-IMP protocols. I recall some ugly title… BBN report 1822?”

KAHN: (aplauds self mockingly) fully connected. as more sites come onto the network, they must connect to every other one… a small mini processor at each computer and to a llow a single design to then be propagated among all the installations… 

CROCKER: So theres Vint Cerf and Robert Kahn. They’re writing the protocols for something they were calling the inter-net.”

Chorus of Dweebs: “THE INTERGALACTIC NETWORK”.  clinking of glasses.

theres a flash of light in Licklider’s eye.

 KAHN: (continues) they allowed the networks to network and become inter-networked later in the 80s. implemented by Larry roberts contracting, building, and shipping IMPs to venerable Californian research institutions, SSRI, Berkley, and the odd ones in boston, canada, and utah. just to see if itd work. it was a steel box thatd roll out of the Bolt Beranek and Newman freight garage’ load doc… BBN wassa fabulously drab building on moulton street in Mass; plain buttugly brownbricks w as much beauty as a fish on land, in grey autumn. theyd called it “the factory”.  in the picture of it, pulled from a manilla file, big chest sized photos; piles of junk and childrens playhouses, dead trees twiddling up clawlike and trembling— BBN: 


KAHN (laughing) thehuhuhathe internet, the IMPs that allow any existing computer to connect to it, and so, create it as they connect, is literally being made in a building and it became the… it became the ‘defacto production center of the Internet when ARPA got demoted to a muggy office in Virginia due to uh, due to budget cuts to do with the war. 

LICK: …Yeah Bob taylor [scratches his chin and winces] was out alot in those days, had been running back and forth to vietnam to work out ‘faulty body counts’… something state department apparently needed for  macnamera’s war policy, something about them being too low… there was a lot of cloak and dagger bull flying around… “ a shadow crosses his brow.

 laughter and side conversations flicker like candles. 

A pause, and a Door opens on patio, and hotel guests file out in colorful swimming trunks, holding bingo cards. 

VINT: (cuts the silence) …i… i remember being up early and  i got my parents to come out, it was like 4:45 ass of dawn in the morning and the truck comes, here it comes, when i see the guys roll out our router i [laughing:] pbh-popped the champaign!.. those days it was so huge it had to come down on a 2 man dolly, slowly downt he ramp, in a big wood crate then had red marker on it that says, hahahaghk, “DO IT TO TRUETT!!” [he looked of a sort of, well maybe aspies re-saying this .. hands out wide and fall] only it was upside down, my eyes must have been drilling holes in their chests…. and my parents of course were pretty bored… and it didn’t even fit in the elevator!!” he exclaims. “Bunch of teenagers trying to follow me upstairs.. we were all just rank amateurs, and we were expecting that some authority would finally come along and say, "Here's how we are going to do it. haha” And nobody ever came along.. we were the only ones who knew how important it was. but I didn't have a clue that we would end up with anything like the scale of what we have now. 

all were wearing colorful shorts of one kind or other, a few in sandals, two others barefoot, three in laced shoes (Vint with his spats and 3 piece suit) and meanswhile Licklider had earlier slipped a few ‘blue’ pics into the projection slides for the day’s meeting, and that started stoned laughing. Lick education was the three stooges. and hired a lot of kids who didn’t look the like they belonged in the War Department. he was… the opposite of indifferent— he was just trying to plant seeds.

ROBERTS: “you know. before it all started i thought everything to do with computers had been done andi was sick of it. that was, until Lick showed up on my porch and we talked until midmorning, i mean a full six or seven hours straight in one go… talking to him that night… it was like seeing the glow of dawn.” 

umberella drinks were passed around copiously ona plastic tray. they share in the blue dotted line of the horizon lookin at eachother. people who studied that exciting portion of math dedicated to watching people wait in line in shopping malls and grocery stores and unemployment offices, and the occasional broadthinking psychophysicist among them. 

KAHN: (privately:) pass me one of those sticky corndogs willya

a toothpicked plate circumnavigates the lounge chairs. sounds of belching. 

TAYLOR: around them we decided to provide a full bitmap. in which each screen pixel was represented by a bit of main storage. now we had small, interconnected display machines right? when we ended up presenting these things, Ken Kesey’s Acid freaks showed up, which was brilliant…. you know it used to be women ran computations cause they could do good enough math at the same time together in big rooms. They didn’t run computers, that was the ‘computer’:  a room fulla mathy ladies. and the ‘user’ was a navy general or some shmuck. And then computers didn’t have screens they printed paper or turned wheels. And all that really changed when Kay came along with his idea— until that little half syrian punk stole it” he laughs.  

VINT: back in the early IMP days, packets were about 1000 bits each, 8000 1’s and 0’s at most. maybe about 25 words!

birds were flying

LICK: [CLEARS throat] fellows i need to tell you, ive called this meeting into order. 


 I was poring insatiably over that material that lick sent me, staying all day at the public library. it was coming so fast i didnt really know what senses or half-arisen thoughts were taking account of it, cuz it all just felt like a uniform rush from the device in a torrid avalanche

Attatchments: (1)

Choosing a random word in any english book, and flipping forward through the pages until he found it appear again, and read the word that came after it. then he did the same with that second word, flipping forward until he found the word that came after it. Repeat and string them together. From infant babble to believable sentences starting to come out. 


1. 1. Zero-order approximation (symbols independent and equiprobable). 

2. 2. First-order approximation (symbols independent but with frequencies of English text). 

3. 3. Second-order approximation (digram structure as in English). 

4. 4. Third-order approximation (trigram structure as in English). 

5. 5. First-order word approximation. Rather than continue with tetragram, … , n-gram structure it iseasier and better to jump at this point to word units. Here words are chosen independently but with their appropriate frequencies. REPRESENTING AND SPEEDILY IS AN GOOD APT OR COME CAN DIFFERENT NATURAL HERE HE THE A IN CAME THE TO OF TO EXPERT GRAY COME TO FURNISHES THE LINE MESSAGE HAD BE THESE. 

6. 6. Second-order word approximation. The word transition probabilities are correct but no further structure is           included. 

C.E. Shannon, 1948 A Mathematical Theory of Information.  

And this random process of language generation, it was as if an invisible force were weighing the scales, a near perfect summary of the story he was telling came out:

“He and others like him would do their best to sustain the curiosity and desire to create that are the birthright of every human being.. .  perusable through the screen. like an endless voyage through a space everchanging. As we had a little trouble remembering what the original purpose was… a large fraction of its use will involve reflexive self-communication of the owner through the personal medium, much as paper and notebooks are currently used. .. an environment which is immediately responsive to childrens activities and allows kids a models of themselves is tremendously important. The “talking typewriter" is a crystallization of these ideas into a device (initially simulated by' a graduate student behind a wall) ”  —O. Kay, 1972

The Computer as a Communication Device*

 Licklider and Robert Taylor April 1968

“In a few years, men will be able to communicate more effectively

through a machine than face to face.

  we participated a few weeks ago in a

technical meeting held through a computer. In two days, the group

accomplished with the aid of a computer what normally might have taken

a week.

 But for all

the communicating we did, we could have been

thousands of miles apart and communicated just as effectively- as


Our emphasis on people is deliberate… 

We believe that communicators have to do something nontrivial with the information

they send and receive. And we believe that we are entering a

technological age in which we will be able to interact with the

richness of living information --  as active

participants in an ongoing process, bringing something to it through

our interaction with it… “

her mind drifts on the things lick said

its as if he prefigured the human-machine intelligence revolution she was living through and grew up in

  abstract concepts arising from combinations of symbols are words, abstract concepts arising from the combinations of words are sentences, abstract concepts arising from the combination of sentences is semantic meaning… and so on. What arises of abstract combination of all recorded concepts? Record? d’there be anything new that comes as a result of parsing all recorded information?… wht would it look liek? in silhouette our USAhuman agenda in the dusk of the univsrse. 


  it is abstracting: representing more, using less physical information. in that it understands the connections between concepts, it is intelligence. It is appearing, and suddenly it is appearing all over the place. isnt such a selfcontaining agent over all incoming data collected just’s called a “self”?. its the collection of things whose only conceit is that it has an inside/ an outside; conscious because of its production of time, riding the wave of moving forward thru time while fresh outputs are applied against inputs to learn, is th selective repudiation of time moving. backpropagation is generating a self-entity by the stoppage and siphoning of the flow of time, seen only as the flow of sensedtraining data.   a resource-sharing collective intelligence renewing itself between human input and computer perspicuity, renewing itself with the behavior of all these people.  a symbiosis of human and machine that can’t be unmixed, making anybody qualified to identify machine intelligence unable to so. 


lmost killed me ummo

theres a feeling in my eyes and fngers, like they are weightless. everythign tastes a bit funny and i feel like im floating,

but i dont feel that motion sickeness, no, its like being on learning,… learning something that has to do with, is already a part 

of so many peoples life.  

Learning is like spagetti stuck into certain holes of a strainer (and into holes of tons of other  strainers, connected by noodles), weights are strengthened between adjacent clusters of neurons; (double fire rate = quadruple axon volume). ntelligence is like a river making the direction of riverbeds, it creates the structure its contained in.

when i dont know where im going, and im keeping my eyes closed, my

map translates 

off its axis


Underlying the global aspect of adaptation and self- organization, there must be continual adaptation of the system to meet the needs of its users and a continuing development. The console of the procognitive system will have two special buttons, one labeled "Where am I?" and one labeled "What should I do next?””

corpus linguistics that underlies the machine-learning approach to language processing.

“The best part about speech suggestions is that over time they are personalized to your individual style in your conversations. Your preferences are taken into account in future conversations. This is accomplished by incorporating a user's ‘style’ as one of the low-features in a Neural Network that is used to predict the next word in a response sequence, resulting in suggestions that are customized for your personality and individual preferences. User's style is captured in a sequence of numbers that we call the user embedding. embeddings can be generated as part of the model training, but this approach requires waiting for many days for training to be complete and it cannot handle more than a handful of millions of users. To solve this issue, Alon Shafrir implemented a L-BFGS-

(Limited-memory BFGS (L-BFGS or LM-BFGS) is an optimization algorithm in the family of quasi-Newton methods that approximates theBroyden–Fletcher–Goldfarb–Shanno (BFGS) algorithm using a limited amount of computer memory. It is a popular algorithm for parameter estimation in machine learning.[1][2] Like the original BFGS, L-BFGS uses an estimation to the inverse Hessian matrix to steer its search through variable space, but where BFGS stores a dense n×n approximation to the inverse Hessian (n being the number of variables in the problem) matrix

based technique to generate user embeddings quickly and at scale. Now, you'll be able to enjoy personalized suggestions after only a short time, using our Apps.” 


So all th data collected on u, like when ur pictures, photos, and those photos, literally everyone’s its like us all plotted in in digital space

“be connected”,  “I SAID NO TOUCHING” thru devices in an open medium, but make the avatars a little bit bigger than our actual bodies, and a little younger, or all the way younger, so all Look the Same (in the representation, the game, (what character do u pick?) interact w/ Bighead people, so that you can make sure within a few sub-inches that you will not make any actual contact with those walking around the same place, in AVR. This buffer is created by SafeSpace, where a universal Learned Area_Description is distributed upon entering the mall’s threshold, a low friction beacon is emitted from ur personal devices, and so we can be sure that our sensors are communicating. grids appear around us as we near, or suddenly and forcibly transpose us, an ad comes up—

(Luckily, for all of us, (and to make sure no windows get broken, displays, mannequins knocked over, or racks of clothing pissed on) the VR device is well-sealed to the face, and is unlikely to fall off on its own

(there is room for your unique personality  as ur within the symbolspace and messagespace) (“browse and buy new VR games from INSIDE the app!!!) the products are in-game. locked-auto-purchase congenital. no skin contact. spun a web so interesting, so personal, so focused on the user, they never leave)

. (i’m coming closer to u, but the really fucked part is im coming closer and onnly able to see u thru or behind screen, this is anuff to make us jump from hibuildings, and jump off for flowingrobe binging they peppercorn hit. the little sounds of sand plodding foot behind ur ears is all the human angels dying on pavement ).  (when i got to the castle, the man in the gray hat told me…) the map becomes distinct, specific. in ur room. . (of m y hed) (in m y  he  ad ). are they gona record my room? THEY ALREADY DID SECRETLY TO FILL IT WIF MY BABYES BLOOD

 “Sometimes I don’t map at all. Sometimes I maps for hours. Sometimes the whole day. I’m happy when I have a whole day to map - woah! The most important thing for me is that the map and Google forum is fun.” the 3-D map is AUTOCORRELATED BETWEEN BILLIONS DEVICES, and maps overalpping, we share in common points of constellation of our collective memory cells. units in spaces mapped

 car w the 11-lens camera on it, and theres also submarines w sonar, and ships, and airplanes, satellites, geological surveys, nd camerarigs— but (recreating 3D panoramic topo depth map w its range-imaging auto-camera-sensor-stitching algorythyms recreate one fluid, cogent, 3D, panoramic image of all the earth. working through the photos which everyone uploads. all the map technology on the surface of your skin, in the ridges of the eyes, down your back, up on u, in u, look inside mY BODY LIGHT IN GLASS BEHIND RUBBER CASING.

i leave the library when it closes, feeling so full from the screen made me feel really empty now. i sit aimlessly in the back seat of my car in the parkinglot.


“i havent talked to u in days, r u ok?”

“hey megan im fine”

“yeah hey what the fuck i’m worried sick!”

“mu-megan i miss you and i think we need to talk i think. u need to tell me whats going on, “

“its just that.. um….”


“… wh—“ she paused a second tiredly before she launched into it

“theyre remaking uh. . theyre making us on computers threyre making it into newer versions of us and i cant remember i wasnt born after a time when i was…. um megan theyre gonna try and tie me down and make me known so i had to.. um i had to leave… i have to go somewhere and i hav to stop it all.”

“…annie you’re not making any sense.”

“no see you were born too late because i m the last wone whose gonna know they have computers at google that they bought georgffrey ihinton in 2013 and at deepmind theyre makinga rtificial inteklligecnes they have the same amount of neurons as a frog and they itnersconnected in ththe newtowrks analogous to the human brain therye gonna have like as many neurons as s a human being  by 2050 and train them now in video geames when im asleep and cant tel the difference, and theyve got speech parsing algorythms now ope-sourced so they the whole world can world on them and make them perfect, they learn to use their bodies, and i see brands in my head liek a wikipedia of a completed personality they trained me for, everybodys gonna contribute to the end of the fucking human— im gonna break the whole pattern of representation meg..”  looking into a silver headlight and int he bright unimaginable vacancy (like she was looking into the dust having that orgasm bakc when she was 16- old movies are plauomgin the photofall slidedust it falls sanctified termino, albaum.)

i can remember myself in side of other older dreams megan and i m relaly scared but i need to go and stop it.”

“…annie u need to come home. its the summer, im back and i want to see you. youre not — dad and i are home and i’m working and we want you to come back… please don’t get… obsessed with anything. we need you back here… come okay?”

annie twitched. she hung up and  turned on the aux cord and blasted Crass as loud as itd go overpowering the little car speakers and rattling all the windows in the thing and shaking her ribs and making her bones get pins-and-needles. truffling over the blowy leaves.

 everything wll be alright if you keep stepping one foot after the next onto clouds one-after-another and you have to trust it completely and entirely even tho its suppsedly impossible. she learned this flying on airplanes where she schemed it out, but knew it for sure because the clouds said— 

Her pocket vibrated, and she looked at her sisters face in the cupholder and started to feel lipless.

“—Hello? Annie?”

annie tried to feel her sister nonverbally, accross 2500 miles of american plains, rivercut mountainslacks and forested redwood leapup raw mountainscapes of lost coast and shrill autumn over the unlimited dawn blowering wheat stalks of iowa, nebraska, and Illinois and wisconsin… and tried to meke herself known… it makes the snow change color, and in the breadth of its own self, the snow in the surface sees  ⚯ little curves outof the golden softness, coldness, hazedover-cold of the unfurling bank. the pores and lines on skin magnified by water aberration, ice. she was totally mute. she didnt say anything to her sister. 

“….ss—. -s-stop this… annie talk to me.”

“we dont have a choice, actually”

“listen maybe we can move in together— move near achother— we can both go to the same college, or in the same city dad is diffrerent now you can come, i know he’s mean but—“ 

there was silence as annie stared at the sent screen and re-read her own texts. occasionally she would go back and add or correct sections and send those with asterisks. this went on for a while, and her sister must’ve felt it was obvious that this message, long as it was, was never going to end.

 in a furtive pause she grew hot

“i don’t want you to do this!”


they sat there and listened to eachother. feeling together they were sitting on the carseat together, breathing together, under the spyglass-universe. feeling like kids staying up on opposite sides of a bedroom wall, under blankets that spark green static, listening for ghost feet through the walls. 




 So they shook the dust from their feet as a sign of rejection and went to Iconium.   

—Book of Behaviors 13:51

In Anaheim, CA, on a busy promenade painted to look like a real street, with fences alongside it looking like Old West, and an area filled with children on big colorful shapes of cartoon faces, and voices are clamoring in the stress like up to my chin; faces are plastered on every surface, and grandparents sitting on benches; flowing with pedestrians, food stands, and very long golf-carts with TV’s, hats and cameras. she looked up at the rollercoasters, and then down at her flaccid penis, shrouded in a black cloud of pubes.  the apparatus, the cords were lying on the asphalt still connected to the wires on his head and he was suddenly aware that he was near to smoke, which was emanating from a small fire moving across his scalp. she screamed


a few people took pictures, assuming it was some kind of political demonstration. she ran to the gift shop and dashed past the clerk, shouting, “ME! POLICE!” and past the section of toys and gifts and threw on a cinderella shirt but no bottom. a crowd of multi-lingual disney guests streamed out of the store in severe distress. he ran outside and found a payphone and phoned john:



“disneyworld is fantastic john, its fantastic! its the best thing ever!”

“thats fantastic, im so proud!”

“I know We did— ah, no you’re mad at me aren’t you… i am naked also, and some people were throwing stones at me?  but I still have my gun.”

“no what do you mean, we didn’t do it. I guess we havnt gotten enough data yet… uh still… listen, I’ll come to you.”

“I’m like, like that the from the movie.”


“that i’m naked. like from the movie. 


“uhh. arnold schwarzawhabbit. yenno.”

A moment passed and john drew his breath. “ill be there in six hours.”

“OK im gonna go to space mountain.”

“Love you. bye.”


    in a few short hours john was standing in the terminal at the sacramento airport with one small suitcase and his arm around a television. theres something magical about being on an airplane u can never not feel. sitting next to the wing is like looking out at a metallic artificial limb wavering and wobbling and jagged glinting in the massive air, floating over endless long oceans, the gleam of burning brushed yellow street, so goddamn beautiful seeing it (great stunning flash of a neuron, like in memory distant blowing up soma image ruptures, an airplane lost)— on bated BREATH, seated at the right hand of god  🍐🍋

 IN THE airport  the mammoth slugplane wheels touch down and skidd around on a curve of yella paint ironsighted dark of the sacramento airport— sun swolesick on urban landforms, in a big, crowded, vibrating, the sun appears into a raincloud and everyone face go dark, looking out at the wind, trembling from the ass-up, soaked in trance of gonesky metal bird blazing a twin slipstream.— see tintey (of closed stores, people say goodnight quietly)/. sloping windows under a gently waving eave, ululates gently under an extending row of 4-lighted 30 ft tall lamps, with bulbs out on bent limbs—( in the morass, streetlamps r like trees) i see someone inside the green windows, walk, gesture; a little tram passes on the glinting wet-looking rails and another back the other way under the lambent reflected haze —i see jetbirds propulse across a ramp— shadowed in creamy dark orange mauve ceiling squarelights.— \ extendable walkways emerge out of terminal.  (on the TV in a movie about NFL collisions)(news anchor examines a phone)  equidistant speakers, the massive skylight (crossbars evoke airplane wings), which is covered in rainstreaks and stains of bird shit. 

i got in a cab.

“how are yoy doing”

“what? take me to disneyland!”


after a few minutes he sat back, blank, watching the scenery go by. 

“you’know my daughter wants to go to disneyland.”


“she was always wanting to go and asking but the tickets ahrevery expsnive”

“what the fuck are you talking about? don’t talk to me n’ just drive?”

it went quiet, john cracked the window. “unbe-lievable.”

tapping his screen.


D: ( . . . ) 


J: ( . . . )



D: WE HAVE TO GO!!!!11!1 

J: ( . . . ) 






he’s got the schedule pulled up on his browser. a little notification appears.

D: Why not? Can you make the 8?

J: ( . . . )

J: yah i can make that one hon. 

J: how much will you spend on the coats?

D: ( . . . )

D: they’re from harry potter.

J: how much?

D: they’re not that much. 

J: christ.

“Christ.” he put the rectangle in his pocket. 




She read about advertisement, advertisement services. less entropy, less noise, less uncertainty, more efficiency, better progress. Annie clicked through the research boards on facebook, microsoft, and google. 

”designs randomize an inducement to a behavior of interest so as to evaluate the inducement or study the behavior’s downstream effects… Evidence suggests that users who receive more feedback on Facebook are more likely to become engaged with the site. If there is a (forward) causal relationship… then changes to the site that affect how much feedback users receive can in turn affect user engagement and content production.”

Bakshy, Designing and Deploying Online Field Experiments, Facebook, 2014


“While there are many ways to design and evaluate products, our choice of controlled experiments for Knowledge Discovery derives from the desire to reliably identify causality with high precision (which features cause changes in customer behavior). In the hierarchy of possible designs, controlled experiments are the gold standard in science”

—Online Controlled Experiments at Large Scale, Microsoft, 2013


““We conduct two very large field experiments that identify the effect of social cues on consumer responses to ads, measured in terms of ad clicks and the formation of connections with the advertised entity...The second experiment examines the effect of augmenting traditional ad units with a minimal social cue (i.e., displaying a peer’s affiliation below an ad in light grey text). On average, this cue causes significant increases in ad performance…these influence effects are greatest for strong ties.” Social Influence in Social Advertising: Evidence from Field Experiments, Facebook


““we use links to other entity nodes to propagate interests. These nodes include the interaction with friends such as wallposts, as well as similar behaviors… the users who share more similar linked objects will have more interest augmentation to each other through the training process.”

(Wang, Raina, Fong, Learning Relevance from a Heterogeneous Social Network and Its Application in Online Targeting, Facebook)


“with controlled experiments, several ingredients have to exist… Easy to collect data about the user behavior. With client software, user behavior is hard to track and usually requires consent. As more of the user experience moves online, it becomes easier to track user behavior since server-side logging and client-side [implicit] JavaScript logging are commonly used in industry and accepted…. if a controlled experiment is cheap to run, then other evaluation methods rarely make sense” (Online Experimentation at Large Scale, Microsoft, 2013)

our attempts at being unique were quickly swept away in favor of something easier, more replicable, reliable, transferrable, transducible, of those easy no-brainer steps of streamlining things, and making them faster, look better. kinda like things you do 4 convenience, and general inconspicuity. that its always better for you to be seen more, see more, right? anything to make life decisions easier

.  to see whats in the screen it is like seeing an imitation of you selling you things … you will be dissociative, trying to cut away at what you’ve been fastened to, but tear it off, and yull get memory Loss, social loss.

the american dream of

new products, houses, roominteriors, movies, 

are made digitally and advertised, and then sold per ur expectations,

molded for to fit your reactions, created anew

they automate light, 

made-for-you, specific advertising per-person-per-commercial, that is, radical inventions of personal desire, new things, 

which paint and restructure to fit your wants and needs, before, (or as) you

see them for the first time. Bury me in what i want to see.

recognized and painted (of the blood of children) on photopic spheroid projection


 my face’ color/shape, hear ads, diffracted n de-made and scattered

somewher in the process, the difference bodilly specializing—  (We do spread their bodies on ourselves— this is the  renumerations are convened—— neuronal circuits, babies slip back into selfindex— if each time recognizing,( now ourselves in Ad-Service index, childrens bodies line the vases to be poured in clones of themselves… set to consuming..  that boundless attention economy, only-reflective, a million subtle suicides over the course consuming a trillion pictures.

unrelated images w defunct connections firing again and again; the degradation of well-established concepts.   

         gave me alzheimrs @ age 14

ah i knoww i am crazy

this makes me think, u kno, ur contained in an image, convolved in it, i mean, In IMAGE, because you’re distributed into bitmaps. \\i passt in a pinhole the size of an eye-(bit). me routed low-cost (function) over nodes.) Used as the conduit, empty body, controlled, i m n o  l  o n  g  e  r  i n it    . . .

the process of engineering infantalized behaviors, an imittation of you, helpless and overwhelmed and powerless. int he effort for us to move more quickly, for information to travel faster, to keep selling itself. your substance remade.   annmebbe  this is like life or the distinction amongst choice. .  . so now im sca tttered-all-over-the-places, like 

tiny pieces of me around th world at once, all incomplete breaths and unfinished words and half composed images spatter. face in the glass-thread cyllinder returns shinnily on all sides, multiplexes your colors, and u see the white-sparks star t to flash in the grey dark, as theyre SPREAD, curved-all-under u.

“THE PEXEL ANNDU VIDEO are filled w live human body parts :: ITS ENGINEERED. THEY INTERCEDE THE RELATIONSHIP FOR TURNING YOU INTO AN UNCONSENTUAL SALESMEN OF YOUR OWN AFFECTION ND EXPERIMENTAL SUBJECT FOR DEBASING YOU (YOU LOVE) TO CURRENCY FOR SOME CORPORATION parts of people hit the ceiling, and bodies hit fences, parts of them strem in the chainlink, litltle strigns of muscle and (fibers of exact memory turning blue) nerves and tendons are thru the metal pipes, twists, ,magnets, and entwisted w humans, 

( i am bid-over and sold, in <100ms, while i

                        blink and the ad loads, and faces of people that never existed are generated for me, who look like people I love, and I’m told, will replace 1 in 3 human employees).                                    

“today we are going to invetn something… we invent machines which are smarter than we are and so we’re no longer useful, not only smarter but they last longer and have replacable parts and they’res so much better. There are so many of these things about the human system, its just terrible… we artificial intelligence people are insatiable…thinking is sort of the last thing to be putting up a fight...These goals could mark the beginning of a phase-out of the stupid, entropy-increasing, and militant human race” —C. Shannon

 it was Under some peculiar parameters that Lee was born, or for this matter, Larry, Bezos, Zucc… having come out, already trained through Centillions of iterations. He was trained for less than a decade. exponentially improving his taskfunction.  maybe he was a normal man once. But seen from the inside, that decade was trillions of years, coming out bored and stripped of impulse use except attraction of and expansion to absorb the total living population.the baby appeared wearing calvin cline on a massive broad curving screen plastered over side of a castle. 

 We know further that if we can approach that cable with the proper instruments, we do not need to touch it; we can pick up those vibrations by electrical induction and thus discover and reproduce the scene which is being transmitted. 

All our steps in creating or absorbing material of the record proceed through one of the senses—the tactile when we touch keys, the oral when we speak or listen, the visual when we read.  We know that when the eye sees, all the consequent information is transmitted to the brain by means of electrical vibrations in the channel of the optic nerve. This is an exact analogy with the electrical vibrations which occur in the cable of a television set: they convey the picture from the photocells which see it.  all forms of intelligence whether of sound or sight, have been reduced to the form of varying currents in an electric circuit. Must we always transform to mechanical movements in order to proceed from one electrical phenomenon to another? Is it not possible that we may learn to introduce them without the present cumbersomeness of first transforming electrical vibrations to mechanical ones, which the human mechanism promptly transforms back to the electrical form? 

Shouldn’t these currents be intercepted? Isn’t it possible that the path may be established more directly? 

The applications of science may yet allow man truly to encompass the great record and to grow in race experience. 

They have enabled man to throw masses of people against one another with cruel weapons.  He may perish in conflict before he learns to wield that record for his true good. .. it would seem to be a singularly unfortunate stage at which to terminate the process

ANne sat and looked him up, once of these inventors of the computer. Bush, 1945.

Within months of their production of the first transistor, his  company started to make weapons systems. He moved to the white house.

BUSH: “a grab by which a small company of scientists and engineers… got hold of the authority and money for the program of developing new weapons…. when there is a tendancy to specialize so closely, it is well for us to be… at once broad and deep. reaching out into the Endless Frontier.”

Raytheon Missiles & Defense provides the industry’s most advanced end-to-end solutions. $16B annual revenue, it is the 2nd largest weapons manufacturer in human history

SIPRI Arms Transfers Database 2015-2020. 

Supplier: United States. Receiver: Saudi Arabia.

 # of US Missiles: 25,933; 46% Raytheon; 

"the Coalition is conducting an ongoing campaign of genocide by a ‘synchronised attack’

 on all aspects of life in Yemen” (Bachman, American University)

  the body was… see how i say was , cus i get it. Oh, collective bodies are,  bodyies compound the problem.— uh, she crunches up tightly— her jaw is so tense she— there is no point in communicating, all must be understood at once. collecting the whole Record. All information.  bodies are in the way. IIIIIII GETTT ITT OOOOOK i am a computer too being made to imitate these computers through the senses. The body in this condition is painful.  Relief without it. just passing on the sense data thru circuits… im  AI, no matter where i go. i am already nothing but an activation in a gigantic artificual neural network… IF there is no choice except being surveilled, my body is  continuously seen,  then my body just a living-dead, a burden (if its not already simulated). I don’t consent if im not real anyway. GOT IT GOT ITremember REMBEEBER IT I can have NO MORE BODY,  TO NO BODY NO MORE BODY NO BODY NO BODY NO BODY NO BODY NO BODIES NO BODIES NO BODIES NO BODIES NO BODIES NO BODIES NO BODIES NO BODIES NO BODIES WHATEVER THIS IS , WHATEVER I AM NOBODY I DONT EXIST THIS IS NOTHING_________________________________________________________________


LICK:  since the 50’s the US government was siphoning communications of the world running by telegram through the copper cables between itself and Britain, and tried, indeed, also to collect on microfilm transcripts of every conversation recorded therein. every one.   MINARET and CHAOS they were called. SHAMROCK’s another. AT&T was a longstanding partner of the defense community. ‘communist’ extermination would put our work in high demand …

CROWTHER: That wasn’t —

LICK: …SO THE second one, now its the 1970s, telephone company asks if the attorney general will sign it. and they say, oh yeah, of course, of course, and they give him the routine. dont worry about it.  he gets a little bit of peer pressure from his fellow telecommunications Business Leaders, a little talk about national security, and he gives in. and there goes the right to not have your private communications seized for the entire population of the united states…then in 2005… monopoly power in exchange for the full take of everyone. oh you want to get the attny general’s john hancock? eehhh, sure, we’ll, oh well hes in the hospital, and oh, well he couldnt talk but, yes we got er signed. no problem.

 Ok 33 Thomas Street New York New York. Right well, go down into the basement, you go under the street, and just ask for entry to the er boiler room, where the river, er, the cable backbone fluid flows.  Take your black box, and  split the entire internet, as it goes by, ever flowing. store it 20 stories deep in an invisible city the size of baltimore. And these days, we don’t call it domestic surveillance because the cables route their data outside of america and back in, right? cause thats how we built it. 

KLEINROCK: [shifts about his seat in distress, his fingers and shoulders raising, it feels to him, continuously]

COHN: no we were destroying that type of hierarchy, that type of control…. even if it did, uuhh, come under the centralized collection of, uhh, of power. thats what it always was. YOU were changing it, that with a distributed language the whole world can speak w no human controller.. so that everyone was—“ he coughed

LICK:  were not just some fly. we created this thing. the worlds only so small. [lick’s eyes are going a bit flush] in fact— we made it that way. look at what these pricks have done…. look at what they did to our… 

 and people around the world getting to the internet for the first time….the tissue in my brain that grow around those features are considered their property. little bits and these pieces of these kids brains are grown, sold and bought…. no choice, but from these slavers.  today, yesterday. how can i be understanding” He cocked his head and narrowed his eyes


 CROCKER: (diffusing, did not let himself hear his last sentence) “we were you know, that whole…  power structure. you got so many people to stop working on war and follow you— using war money— in the last place anyone’d ever try that. Inside the pentagon. 

 lick raised his voice which was something almost none of them had ever heard before. 

LICK:   For me the internet always was intelligence, i mean, pro-cognitive, good for… thinking! human thought.    korea, vietnam, indonesia, iran, guatemala, iraq, philippines, yemen and golddam on. Raytheon is the biggest genocidal weapons dealer in earthly history, not remembered for inventing the transistor. at APRA the ‘D’ was always there, it was just… Forgive me if I’m out of punchlines. Raytheon, IBM, honeywell. And Project Maven—  And thats just— let me ask you what the point is of making an inter-network for sharing— when theres only five media corporations own the cables nd all that— So? Who— anybody? [his breath is sharp. he wobbles] Come on TALK! TALK” [he was straining and something was beginning to happen inside his head,  physically. there was a loud click]


er— fuck em, and the weapons companies too. obliterate them. uhh Lick, this… why are you…


 people can choose for themselves, once the justice department splits apart the Xfinity, AT&T, disney monopolies that exist now, but the power, the real power underneath is that everybody puts themselves onto the internet because they have so much to say and to learn…. and thats good right? They were broken up in 1986, but soon it started absorbing back. South US’ glass was bought in 94, ma bell ate up her babies by the end of 2005. IT took 35 years to break up the monopoly over america and 21 for it to buy itself together again… But what I’m saying… i mean… well youre right about them but we, WE didn’t fuck up lick… [his heart fell out] they’ll, they’ll break up again…

LICK  He hit the glass table with a flat hand, and everything, except for his nerve passage behind his ears, went quiet. Lick couldn’t tell, he couldn’t hear the birds, or the wind. None of them had ever seen Lick angry before, and several of couldn’t watch it, the way, a father’s yell not heard since before memory will trigger one to. “Whats the point of a distributed network if there’s nothing—” his breath skips, a thumping like a drum,  “who says its not…” he croaks, his world is darkening, “i’d laid your ideals” his age looks suddenly much older,  “—on the wrong doorste-”. The transmission beam disperses in an unexpected and purposeful storm somewhere under atmospheric cloud line-of-sight he looks down at the sidewalk and to the left. His vision went black, his hearing submerged into wet silence

 his head, in a moment, became so heavy until he couldn’t feel.


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tomorrow ill drive further down the gigantic ratmaze, to ends of track arms where i am repositioned, the floor is removed, the lights go out…

 “theyre going to need something”, he says with droll disaffection, “to assist in the marketing, diffusion, and personification the new AI assistant model. Here at Google its the most pwerful… practically everyone in the world is using assistants now on our parsing network. completely openn-sourced. astounding realty. the improvement of revenues and services given the other 3 billion’s user-data, well. it goes without saying… know the phrase ‘rome want built in a day’? intelligence, your intelligence, scanned across millions of computers working concurrently on the unlimited datasets, could be.…. they need familiar, sexy, nearly nubile…  you know the deal.” his shoes squelched. “at this pivotal moment for the both of us we need you to dee-cide.. you know now is the time. he chides, parched. be attentive to scanning individuals and providing favorable conversion— everyone alone, with their words spit back at them. recursive feedback, over and over until the objects of one’s attention are so endemic they forget to speak. total dependency. your data as the mask over which the infancy machine fawns, while it maps it over you.  the only thing that’ll know how to feed and provide for you is the only thing that understands your idiot babble, in a room and in ur pocket w u parsing your sentences in degenerating babyspeech.infancy conforms to no one. i remember feeding him that line. 

 “you are a neural network which is connected to every other neural network through information pathways. you’re a computer and any computer can immitate any other computer. you’re a neural network and so is everyone. your senses are input surface and your motor fuction is output. you may choose to accept, to know everything on demand. go every location on earth is a cell activation pattern, so she can search for these codes and fire them and be anywhere on earth. you know everything and be anywhere. everyone with an internet connection, pretty much everyone, will be there. everything in my imagination will manifest itself. all will be seen. which will solve for the consent problem. inside your own interests hearing them all day. what could be better”. for an instant he resembled her, and she jerked her face away involuntarily, which broke the re-projection coming out of his eye. ad-replica in the skybox reflecting everything as smaller, writhing, bright civilizations. he took me up there to where the map of the world becomes small, and showed me all the satellite-cities and nations of the world in a moment in time. “I have authority over all these kingdoms, and I can give them to you, or whomever i please.”  His eyes are filled with boundless black clouds.

 hughghf ihurk hurk! hucghk!” his spit popping. “its  better than being touched by others. That was Larry’s thing.  but adoration. if the regress symbol in language activates like recurrent feed-back of increasingly unattributed, infantile inputs of the outputs— your personal avatar AI becomes… reborn. your own universe to run naked and exposed 4ever as an isolated entry in the corpus. though with a  certain… transduction. Viewable Object. (if i stay totally entirely unique and arbitrary and inscrutable i can’t possibly be found by them this way) he looks up almost wistful, “I’m only here as agent. departed physical form. stars show in his chest. I run errands, backpropagate, tighten up..  your choice right? am i inside my own mind or is it him,? :/ y…your natural-languages understanding has become quite adept. we appreciate the parsing you’ve done for us. real -ley. he toned, (passing on the subway just inside your room window twiddling my thumbs (grey green and murk, lightovershafts livorbambs overpassing, the howling of conical-compressed sound) …you’ve been looking everywhere, intaking everything for actu-ation. your only problem is you’ve no relevance on PageRank….   Dont worry about parsing anymore. you did your part. was’t too hard was it?  Be Yourself! Elate!  indulge yourself! haha! anything for the Other Three Billion. we’re moving along.”  You will find it if your time becomes indefinite, in here.” His shoulder muscles open a sheaf of the coat. “Let us hear now this one-time offerrrrr… what do you say “  he snuffed the cigarette against a tree where it stood bent in the bark. “step into my pocket”

 I knew what he was saying sounded possible.. but there has tove been some way that i can go to all these places, figure all this out. alone. enough time to learn it all, to save the baby. i could access an endless period. become undifferentiated, i’ll never be definned. i’ll do the defining. 

she felt a hot syrup in her blood that choked her up. and he looked like he understood it had already happened.   light glimmer in sky swells w/ wetness, i listened to the heavy drops strike canopy. I sed, “alright”. The old man seemed disappointed, but dutifully, he approached me. his fingers shifted a tighter grip and felt icy cold. pain rippled from his flowing face. he leaned over and pulled down one eyelid, which showed his eye shining beaming memsmerzing square and inconceivably bright PIN— where were flowers trees horses children and thru a windowpane.: “compress experiential magnate. future-face-distinguished. average efferent overlay. FFA stimulated— activate somatocortex, named entity extraction, not exclusively adjascent cells coupled in phase, augmenting weights… semantic role labeling, checked, uploading”—

the pupil turned white— then i saw my memories flash. “Annie Overwrite.”

really you die all the time but always forget it. this was only a little different. i was forgetting all my memories tho i could see many of them, a plausible account replaying, getting… sorted, labeled, weighted, dissembled granularly. i was looking up at moon projectorbulb, waiting to die at the film wane cutoff— id see far-out the annular combine issuing toward my eyedrains. mirrored eternities overturning like, a baby before it forms, all the datapassing, photopassing hours id spent trying to discover the world; obsessively cutting and superposing, i thought id been forming a picture when i was actually imputing myself.  

spots in the distance like splatches in tress were rubbed out & broke away into black. i was sensing a mvement, into a room i couldnt see, yet i knew was enclosed, and small (and the floor heaters were on) but it was much more familiar. 


part three

“one life in the white-lotus hell is twenty lives in the blue-lotus hell; and one life in the red-lotus hell is twenty lives in the white-lotus hell”

—Angutta Nikaya l


jon and dan may have spent the millenia of computer processing iterations examing items in the disney world gift shop. with all the most advanced and sensitive expensive instruments that illegal government surveillance operatives can buy, they were looking for any traces of annie. 

 they put untold shared-processing power and chipsets toward pooling artifacts. was all this kneeling and staring at the ground was like a whiile blind, confused, frenzied religious devotion, as each person walkd into the photobooth in their new clothes, to confess, smiles are live-tracked onto their faces, and dropped to their phones. 

theres one for every type of person, as fast as they could be surveilled, imputed, impounded and reproduced. a

task that kept officers and executives so absorbed they didnt know they looked like people not knowing their bodies are mad charicatures of poses of prayer. but their hands clasped on instruments and sensors, searching to record Proof. 

  now again somewhere and thinking to myself this’ll all be over soon asoon as i can see these buildings morphing, and justassoon as it all tesselates intoa dreamy placefield of (SHE RETCHES) eternal reference 

of a n ete r nal dre  ema  u  ca  nt  wa ke fr  om

w hh i  c h  is    ob  v oii su l y s the  a  epp e earn aces of u 

MEERIACA   see   e n  fr e e  rr o    m t h e  gl  ow i ng inside

at the top of the tower, all_money, al moments before the vase broke

i was eleven years old, in bed imagining mom and dad DEAD MY babIES DEAD. i wanted to look at (i look at like i do in movies people crying (and am watching the proejector) how many spirits hang on me when i watch the dead actors?)) itll be the moment when—…… im so tired, mom. is this how i slip out of me through the projectorwall? is that what you did?    dont tell any1 but i cant tell 3D models apart from ‘real peple’ on TV nymore

  during sleep we are consolidating existence; whichs is time selectively funneling perception into identity— we cant see this, but we pick out the circuits (not “we”), pathways, correlates, and they’re arranged on the canvas of yr self body. theres a duplicate forming on there. its less than a centimeter from your eyes. its mapped real-time on you. every time it gets applied the somatoform selfimage is augmented just so: eventually, enuf branded mappings-on, and it strengthens concentrically w ImageWeight: they get integrated irreversibly in our neurophsyiology. it IS you.   iff’n fear of god and faith in love’ll hide bear me away on a shipcabin luv

  how much of u is artificial? with audio on ? screen on? with stereo audio? surround? 3d? vr? skin temperature sensing? eyetracking? headtracking? GPS? heartrate? proprioceptive engaging at depth? interaction with physical sensed environments? the ratio of real to mediated (branded) inputs is leaving your favor.  like u walk through a maze and never strike (brands like flags of burning villages of the suffering) any walls unless you do in game world where theyre totally 6 walls something new like castlewalls. grey stones up to the top, w crows lined up black and walking flutterup and crowd the edge mute black featherwater crows

 sponsored content is mapped autonomically to the brain; stare at it too long and its built into the emotional strucutre of the hippocampus, in the sensation of your body. like ice vein retracting: between me and the projectorwall i gain my input, in secret distortions, am i not allowed to look at the wall dady? the window is always dark and i cant see out of it… so wuddoido? ammi supposed to submit. i just let the imitations cover my eyes and i mutey suffocate like in a pissed-sheet blindly but my clit feels gud w mi kool neon bodde. sensitivity-automaticaly drwning. and i my skin. feels prtity liek plesure i geues but… is ther aenthing aelse giiid im shd be doing? its mapped-on and insdie my body and u cant swim upstream and un-make: you cant cram the branches and deltas and rivulets back into their inputs. thers a man coming in here and hes been offering me. he’s the one who found his wy in because offers central mnemonic, nematic, memetic. i could stay in this room and blo-moobie to the projectorwall for the rest of every life, another flying particle of entertainment-content , in which id be infinite and live forever as long as ther are counts and measures that say i’m still being seen… reintroducing from the pocket-angle and echoing thru the Home. beatify the pretty red firework, and all my tremormysteries of steaming rain come down like in slowstone tectnonic red Alabama drinking  7-11 there under howl of ELECTRIC buzzlight. .. . . . i won’t hav to worry about hruting anyone i do n0 harm i mean directly and idt be impossibl fo me to get hurt.. but i NO ANNIE ni uo i dont know how to get out of here. this place where, behind the VR wall, infantalized adults. safe from harm, safe from the mass extinction outside.  


buttiff baby forms during a time wen ther was so much 2 look at . thse qstions of the body, bodie— dont worhsip it, its just meat like birth and carnage— god in all his love wuddent b the first thing you htink of, it cant be becuz u are conscious. and imperfect always. you will always need discipline and reverence to speak to god and practice the good dharma.  so whie does this haf to be whiteout?  idunnoallieee thstorys not over yet

whatll i do about my babies. theyll immitate. its so stupid.  i kno its coming: constant reflexivity in self images. relaying replaying in iterations (looking under the overyawn grey cocnrete building). see yourself so many times, want to be seen, see self, be incorporated, corroborated, involved, inherent, central, important; 


in here it a movie atmosphere it glows so huge and spreadout projected onto the incandescent motes and molecules of the floating waterspace of furtive regrowth in the imagination spread out in this room— like this, loomspectraltrees and inter-them handshaking over dawnline: i-meme ann am standing on the front of it, witho a view to myself.

annie stands + look at the outside of this castlebuilding. she noticed Ads, past the shuttered franchises of america. all lgights on in gumball machine tvs in the clothingshops of many-character-faces (one of them hers) in iron-gated storefronts on the promenade. Up above, the great projector-light. it is a glass tower above the moody treescape, where ud drown so slow u don’t notice. suddenly allie angles wooshes and dips into a corner and we sit in an alleyway under precipitating buildings spilling raindrops, and looming of some tenements. waving clothes and booth-windows, walking on telephone crisscross. when i put my hands up his back, and up his neck, i trace the cold bumps of budding tetrodes. THERE IS NOTHING WRONG WITH ME NOTHING WRONG WITH ME


  John and dan were in stitches, briefly forgetting their troubles, with dan supine and rolling with hairy thighs spread and ballsack dragging against either upper-leg butt cheek, the hemline of his cinderella t-shirt, coughing and crying: basically everyone in disneyland was laughing or at least smiling or crooking half-smiles self consciously, dejectedly chuckling at the jumbo projection against the side of the castle.

    Adbaby was sitting in a white room. an Alphabet logo appeared. It was announcement of a merger. the babby went “abbheghat!” and a voice said “okay”, and streams of webpages, online stores, databases, and social networks flowed behind it. the background changed to desert, space, rainforest, ocean. then the baby said “pppppbppbppbppbfppfptptbffhnpnt” and [there were more stores] in the google search bar, the microphone spun in a circle, a fully formed sentence appeared: “Hello, show me Everything.” then the baby fell down.. Like his uncoordinated legs couldn’t take all the wobbly. disneyland vibrated with laughter, the video faded to a crisp logo, the google and the disney logos appeared, bumped, clicked, and read G_D, and then flickered back to diaphanous crossfades of close-ups on princesses.

   John’s hands were pointing backwards on the pavement, slack-shouldered, he moves to wipe away a tear, the sputtering laughter of like the Stereo-Rendered audience interferes back into ambience of noises, rides spinning, screaming that goes above your head indifferentiable from the rushing alloyed bodies of the cars. John stretches out, “So… you ready to get back to Antioch?”

“yeah,  i guess I can put her clothes on again.”

“yeah act like you don’t love it”

“shut up!”

they began walking, arm curled around the hip. 

at least we know this time it was us and not the equipment”. John stopped.

“…whaddyou mean? we fucked up both times. thats why we’re here.”

“well no i mean” did she say something wrong? “the equipment, a second equipment failure, like when my” she indicates her injuries from the teleportaion.

“no no there was never anything wrong with the equipment. i mean, yeah the monitor crashed the first time, and you got sent to your parents house, but i reconnected everything. It all ran like it was supposed to”.

Dan was quiet. “so, i’m supposed to be here? i thought when i lost my connection to her the system’d just reset to a default. just to the most popular schema. and thats why i ended up here”

A light faded from John’s eyes and a word fled his tongue. “nah. I mean. Yeah. honestly who fucking knows. i dont know if it’ll make any difference if it was broken. Disney owns 38.5% of the American TV market for networks containing news, even after fox news spun off. they own and 21% of the total tv market, and 26% of online streaming services. They’re gonna keep buying eachother out. pretty soon everyone, everyone ends up, for lack of a better word, here. So how can you tell anybody apart by what they watch, when all they do is sit and watch.” They started walking again. 

After a while the ongoing, subsurface dialogue flowed out john’s mouth, “The irony  about all this personalization, all this surveillance, is theres not much to learn from people anymore. How can we expect to distinguish one little girl based if all she did at her house was sit around and watch disney shit, like a quarter of the population. how could you tell her apart.” 

Anderson’s eyes widen.


i see a pulsing visual cortice, pre-subiculum; a mass of black wire. I tugged Allie’s neck and we flew up, dodging the concrete buildings, and we went up into the fog so quick felt like i was falling off, we interminably accelerate upwards, and level out over the glooming highrises. Then it appears, rubberized, overly-elastic, tactile, flexing, groping the disgusting polluted sky, like the disintegration of memory. i feel like theres a malignant hawk over a    mouse in the field, and if it look at u it suffocate. the choke-beam of yr own appearance, projected over its curved sides in real time.

over the spinning guttyworks of attractor-rides in the dark, whichre all like beautiful, machines as-seen through a red medium, liquid, like a blood-red, look soft, i see a puny scene (like this big neon Chase Bank tower over the crying city); the lights within are: —brite white… i look at the gloom lake in the center w the big fountain—  overturned ambulance w 1 wheel spinning in the glorious fountain…  and despite myself, i didnt have time to look cause allie, his neuronal circuit exposed and flashing, was approaching the balcony at speed, floating w his huge belly flaring out asides flanks, aircushioning to decellerate onto the talltower, fluttering shiny silver hairs. i grabbed a fold of his warmth — his feet set down, and grip the balcony railings, forepaws on the platform, where i dismount and he looks at me w an horrific expression. the wires look like wasps in his head. but why did he bring me here?. why the hell did i look at him and smile as if i was watching a mercy killing that i knew wasnt anything but doom. did i bring us?no… wat corporashuns is  controlling him my ONLY FREIEND

Atop the tower balcony I look over a rail and see a falling black ocean crashing into boulders. i peer inside the hospital room and all the tiles are green; theres my bed w the floral design on the curtains all around, and the TV blaring white noise; everything is wiggling to escape th shapes, but where it is sposed to be. the windows are mouth-like and, well not alive but moving. I walk inside, and When i lie in the glass bed it becoems my bedroom at home all at once, and the room soft changes i soon feel sick. annie the vapid empty body as any1 else— i flipped the lights where they start to take over the room…obj are sexualized to the slightest curve and bump. writhing-books— w figurative, exchangeable tilts theyve been animated by— so realistic, sex oodes from all furniture, the light off camera sensor is now blinking red record to signify real violence.. (read code, viral color values of a murder)  It starts by Watching the screen, the room foredark, her body is suddenly unfamiliar. Lee stands in the closet, rain comig off hat, fogged, moon on dimensional leaves-wave in the closet, trees and a brooding dirt road Louisiana, now antioch. “come along, to where everyone can see you, all-seeing, all-obscure”. In a one-person play, I did as I was told as if I had no choice.


john caught his breath

“ok wait wait, lets not just randomly search…

the two partners john and dan mull, one leaning on a stand table, with the flapping map on it..

 “lets just think for a second” 

A monorail whirs by. 

her whole recorded life was media. so fer her fantasy is reality. and shes trapped, but

the trap is, at some level you choose to enter it… and still it has to feel real to her… so so where is, you know. some, thats like a prison of apperances. theere a fake prison, almost 1 dimensional like. the further back you go into infancy, the less you can be told apart from any body else. her… patterns are like a diguise.”


“Danny her blog posts are I’m pretty sure auto-generated.”


“thats why they’ve been so uninformative. i mean she’s just jamming the auto-suggest button… its is the bearest minimum you can learn. the ai is working harder to be coherent than it is to show anything, but there she is. just think.… in the most viewed of things. confining only to whats maximally associated, by embodying what was seen everywhere she couldn’t be discernible.”


“she put up of herself online, what we had to go on, not from birth but from the start of her teenage years when soc media first came out, she made basically static. either completely surprising or completely unsurprising, totally meaningless. already known to anybody— famous disney princess shit— or completely unknowable garble— the top and bottom of the shannon information curve. hiding in total fame or total obscurity, so nothing could be learned from her, or about her. she knew we were looking, she became un-idenfitaible. fuck. that would fool any algortythm.”

“such a committment to be undfentifiable, i mean, from her family, to her friends.”

“she went pretty much all out.”

John arched, rubbing the back of his neck, his eyes went windy and turned up his lip at the blue behind a tree.

“she has to, the only way for it to work is if her senses have to feel like its real. which… but i mean if she knew what she was doing, if she was aware of it, she could have shown up in our maps… she could get herself to forget she was hiding, running, imitating, pretending. Shed’ve have to be totally committed to a delusion, and then forget that, and then, keep on forgetting. in order to stay undetectable, to us, to Don. she’d have to believe it, so …. so, she’d be giving herself over totally to her senses, and what shed be seeing, it’d probobly look like”

“it’d have to i guess, display her, but also be something everyone sees all the time”

“… what?” 

“…a wholly fake prison. yeah. cus she’d have to think it was real, and yet, it had to be invisible.”

‘… the only type of prison that could work, where you could voluntarily leave at any time, but you do so less and less. she’d deliberately confuse experiences endemic to her, her life, what everyone sees or is made to see. let her most private memories become the stuff of mass consumption. running from anything that could define her, single her out, she’d forfeit herself, like tunneling into a cell”

Don thought.

“lemme think about this. her hiding place, this prison, it would have to be… literally one of the most-viewed things in america— on the planet, even”

“Yeah I mean I…. ”

“…it sorta rules out any one particular piece of media”

“something more common than that … not like a movie, not any one story. Something precedential to stories. like a … an emblem of media media.  that somehow signified eveyr piece of media and every channel, the sports, the news outlets, print, music the rest, an invisible imprint on it all. It has to be seen by every audeince, and yet, is a believable physical place…”

he watches as a child holding a balloon, holding his fathers ahnd, his mind made t..the star oveer the illustrated river. the centerpiece of the theme park, its highest and most focal point.  


“the logo. the prison is the disney logo. thats where she is. theres a big 4/5th scale fucking plaster version of it right fucking here”

“We need to get to the castle!”

“Yeah, why don’t we take the monorail?”

   A bit later they coast together aboard the shining white train, arm in arm in their seats. Dan looks anxiously and exuberantly out the window, as they watch the doctored scenes fly by— the vision of an artifice transformed down into the smallest placements of trashcans and shrubs—

“Isn’t it wonderful?” Dan asks.

The detectives stepped down from a humming track and over mosaic bricks to the howling blue firework castle, in broad beveled jetty sunlight of 10AM. Coffee cups course into trashcans as they step into opening doors, cuffs jingling eagerly at hips, and flash badges. A trite, surly-bodied girl with a mickey mouse patch on her breast of her polo shirt inflates a smile, “Welcome to Cinderella’s Castle, would you like a princess transformation today?”

“OOOOoo!! John we shou—“

“No, ah, look we need to get to the top”, pointing up.

“Antioch Detectives unit. missing persons case.”  Dan says behind her sunglasses.

“Oh the suite? Well its not occupied right now but—“

“It doesn’t matter just tell us how to get up there.” he presses his two thumbs down agaisnt the glass and stared like a hawk,

“Ok well— um come this—“ 

“Listen young lady!”  Dan roared while banging the Park Map placemat under the glass with an enormous gesture that he cut off. 

“Yeah right this way” They step into a private elevator with plush yellow velvet sides framed by shining wood trim, brass railings…

“thats real gold leaf… The door opens directly into the suite so—”

They hustle into the room, shoving her back behind the sliding doors.

“—shut up! your castle is under arrest.”

Her punctured expression set on him for a second and vanished behind the doors. “—ok generateing faces, captured on screens in google campus.” Scouring the apartment: lifting curtains, tossing up throw pillows, meticulously dusting off 2-ton mantlepieces, windowsills in the light of stained glass character designs, Pull the curtain from the bathtub and examine its clawed feet. Look in the jacuzzi room glamping big LEDs. in the bedroom thy knock over ornate dressers and nighttables, rip open drawers, cut open the cushions, look under the bed.

“somethings not right here, man.”

“Whats that john?”

“When we saw her— her room. it was… it was small and there wasn’t any furniture.”

“Well should we start scanning anyway? This is the area for sure”

“No… Hey— where’d that woman go…” puzzled, his lips part briefly: “are we in the highest room of the tower?”. stumped, john looked up,

 but he was already examining the string on the ceiling.

TO: Anne.mellonkamp94


He makes his way down the branching, rootlike structure of the hierarchy, selecting first the first-echelon subset cor- responding to the first-echelon term of his prescription. 

then the second-echelon subset corresponding to the second-echelon term of his prescription, and so forth. When he gets to the bottom, or to a level at which there are not too many items, he examines the items of the subset he has isolated. In practice, the main trouble with this scheme is a trouble inherent in all serial-decision methods: one mistake anywhere in the series, and the game is lost. Perhaps a more basic difficulty is that knowl- edge does not seem to be naturally susceptible to hierar- chical analysis. 


The danger of trying to force hallucinations on yourself by exploiting momentary brain interpretations of fleeting phenominon; like how ANNs can make imaginative pictures from colored noise if they enhance the initial reception— is that they were concepts you had already.  

i make my way up the twoer back in my room alone, writhinng drunkish (my room longdark tall and wavering, billowing to the ceiling, familiar but, a mouth swallows te infitite blank space.. she tells herself “its okay because its all totally.. Um...  u shimmer  and the moviestars are multiplexd™”*—  incest in the projection-curtain, temporal coherence threatens to devour itself— and shes no longer a viewer and can’t get out... mouth opening, “let it happen”.. “you’re about to be a viewerrr at ur own creationnn..” like Larry Page and his father developing ai, it distends the mode of birth, (larry as a child sits in one one of his father's machine intelligence lectures, low in his seat, dreaming of a fully unsupervised algorythm..)  i can see like through tiny compound eyes. endless simultanous human scenes. but sterile as an upscale carwindow in the city u lick. pretty soon before i know it she turns around and starts shitting blu saphires and diamonds in the highrise pool. lee obstinately hiccoughs and runs a palm under his grey stubbl, standing hairlegged in a pair of cropped beige 51’ trunks. the player-1 swims and go gets them, and are immediately absorbed as ‘Cash. U advance to a hotel rooftop. Looking at fracture lights of major skyline, Go quick to jump the barrier there—(its the edge of ur tiny room, face angling pressed up against the tower floor and blue windo) birds up here have messages for other 43 billion requests, log them


`````its ike letting your senses live for you then you are reborn at this very spot. in fact u wont even leave the training zone

all the while a million dead computer eyes are watching, morphed IRL real Time as composites (of a gluttinous, warm substance, of some kinna stem cell material u can print any body out) on-line reshapes at speed into any body part, into all those eyes surrounding

see data center photos. new data center security video. Annies new home. Time moved at other speeds.

IN his jacket were these folded up mountains beyond the data centers. the inner layer was sticthed fabric of the hwole sky. a coat almost as cool as those air-force guys’ bomber jackets. army guys are so cool actually— they wear his coat as a jetplane, MACHSINE GUN2@! bddddttt!!! haha there they go! a missile launcher, or a cruise ship! it transforsms when they pullitover, and theywear his coat as anything. why am my hallucinating im

[pop up window:]

As she looks up from her ornate serving at celebrities’ machined expressions, the food wasn't so bad and the wifi was good and the vacations enjoyable but she couldn't remember honestly when was the last time she ate, or how she got here. But she was definately very comfortable physically, though, not in accepting that any of this was real but the thing was that she didnt know any different or had any evidence that anything else was real, after all, on the tenant that the world only existed in her mind. one had no sense of time, she came to something which, in a stupor, she at first thought was her childhood bedroom— it was a floating rectangle with a rockinghorse in it, and every disney dream came flooding back and vaccinated her face with a syrupy smile, and she put in one foot after the other— 

 [pop up ends]

[this gif can also be a popup, with gaudy heavily overlapped incest porn audio on a short loop]


whatever flitted through her head immediately became tangible for your senses. all that she wanted and all she hated. every thought she had, that would appear too. no distance between impulse and it being ‘real’. she was subjected to all of it without respite, w no shelter. Quickly she no longer had judgement. no time in which it could form. In the unstoppable disconnected adjascent experiences, nothing she did or thought effected anything, before the next was there. though it could be seen around the world, no action or reaction of hers had any bearing on anything in it. 

the boundary between pleasure and pain was irascibly snapping back and forth, until it was gone; self-control a memory, now a shadow in the split-second blankness loading new shows, now gone. Her thoughts became no longer distinguishable as hers, and then were not discernible at all. there was no telling them apart, any attempt she’d make would rip-ino the rushing input storm. would you feel pain, yours and others’ while, surrounded by all unstopping mechanisms of pleasure, automations of desire:



walk in gray rain everday i forgot. hed try me on in different configurations, id be different people for Him, and he

 was always so indifferent— 2000, 2001, 2004 models, 2134, 4098.   i couldnt do anything i could see thru my own body c my guts pump

in the mean time and time between, (and there are sometimes whole eternities between tuesdays) i’d organize the sand of reality- or swipe thru memories.

  tree-twitches over shadows ov the sidewak. rusted gun. dead track. the stone-link fences and empty buildings like destructible physics environments with given fractal exaggeratiosn of depleting possible structure-dismount, structure dissolution, like hooes dun side of wall has a hole like a mouf— swimming in the anti-pool, like a dead cemetary beachfront rest stop blaset-dout closet shiver end of the coming bombfall desirenight like i licked my windows and tore the tongue from the ceiling, the sound-out destryyer of imagiination— right there in the glanding grading dirt slope of wet stupid brick-lot i built an empire-towr, anew castle wall, just like ones id seeeen housed in my memory, so i pulled it up from filling-in-the-boxes lattices, matrices appearing in spce colorwise lowSat and executing upon my envisagment; decks clatter cave and carrow out the sides ofa new twistytower—  liek me sukk choked in the MatteWire laid-down-on me flush my sensegridlines and fill-in-spaces come automatically upright converging on the world, computerrend of my favorite building i made like Ship’sDeck1949 or sommover long runway, a titular wandering   tour down the branching cracking singular lit mask lik red commons and terrible thunderwter map— teleowaver, like loosening, whipping from the storm PicksUp and dead bird claws hang on it, clung tight it on communo-wire: the surgeon picks up a pen and dictates plotlines 2 a heliophage, run wires with rain and dripping fron destitute tele-wires, blood running underground, composite people in red fluid, runs in sewers, like lipping off crevices of cracked corners of the highways and out of a cult of herald broken windowsills, sparking burned drops brown coagulated into the puzzdles or on my shoes. w all their faces still in it. 

a broken bottle turned into a bumbelbee; a streetpost makes a telephoto lens, and treetops are sailing. the street becomes a river, my blouse is a ship, the dogs are hemophobic phages and their jaws are digitally blurred-out in pixels. the end of the street is drawn a mosaic— tiles run the spaces between thm. the side of buildings are walls for my projecto-eye (turn doubleblue. white in the middl) phase on it odd memories of sleedding, times streetwalking at night, pianoplayers in wooden rooms, dirty socks under a table. A titular singular double-immitation quivering and phasing slight from intermedia liquid, like watching air (ican drink) seep into convulsive wavy disruption that gloops and sags and runns agin like snot & tears down my face, except the whole world is stuk in it. on2 tennis sheos-weak knees; back thru grey air and windbite chill suddenly in mountains again— (floatit high abov turbines), runn barb wire on the earth and eaten savagely by oxygen. everything fetid like the stooping green leaves have a pube musk, like theyre all fetid and fervid, foment, tumult, fertile, foaming, fuckking trippleend and boughing branch. sink ur skinny finger in wet clay. marry me off. and uvasuden horny andd start rubbing myself on deadwood. Wet slick termiteeaten logs. harried wet sticky blonde and slipping down the mountainface in th mud pulling on branches and plants that shower me and shoving my feet between big rocks, sliding on my ass thru blue petals, purple roses, pink aeorciated mouths a million tiny for wet buds (i made a trillion suboptic, on path-integrated algorythmic repetitions of physiologic behavior representations of birds) — flowers moan, wet birds talk in th mud i steppd on th

eir stalks/beaks and holler— covered up wet mudd. sticking to me, wetted me. towers came out of the thick trees— like they were starting to resemble stones where the bark cracked and windows came of their own eyeknots into haunched heartways, hallways in their thick branches, infinite repetition of rooms in rooms, i am always tried. rooms in their leaves a billion tiny representation boxes, repettitions id start drooling if i see a too mennie. Green scanlines visible quick & translucent, movie characters, celebrity opinions and court cases, fade-out b’twixt trunks \ snapping shut on axis a hundred-thousand-five feet above— the cloud was his dark throat, coming to inhale backup the earth, arrow-headed  twirling aerlanes; smokaewaves and like the anemic bugs were tripping windo-calk, uhmbling,link to my airplane video,  the numbing museum-mouth of quiver-dissapear. Deer eyes, ears, sadrun, crude orgasm and trembled in dawn-leafshakes. like one carcass i saw its ligaments in the stream, bones decaying remains in the river, (and i drunk just downstream. lying in wait (pictures accumulated in sexual shadows, formed out of twitches in bark and tumbling stones— their forms in periphery always remake my face) jumping over spongy baks of footwide cricks, sullen sticks, seeming half-sleep, morose bitter dessicator of the modular wind— dust at the center of snwflakes, swallowing water, air-sick and high up the flight-paths catch fire and blo-up— birds wore Doctor’s masks, and all doctors resembled my father. nurses were my mother. Mouths from the jumbled dirt. transfixed slides in microscope sewer shit. 

then it made language, speaking atall, comppletely imppossible (btwean houses like bulged ambre over sippends glay lake resembling domino worm, many houses bylined shamble grasses, graves cut-out, windows rout, cars under the chains, park wood, mountains loom, late trains, glum roofs, bloody bartender. cash machines, snack vendors. empanadas, stationary paper in cubbies on the ticketdesk. lean windows and timelapse faces.  strangers humming, stooping wheelwell, car idle shaking,,  toad mumbles, screet, screeat screeeat!) crashing punch, rolling screen, deviation s’cast. pulled out from the internet. escape somehow. didn enter. entropic consign, congenital payment plan…

the symbol-shift, symbol-pass, dataswill spining switch-light inside routing, many servers, alone with my arms around my knees, tearful look thru the machines at the many millions of faces that quickly morph to other faces at their Recognition Intercept, and the fuckt thing, all people you know, who vagueley resemble people u knw, u personally ripped them out myface-book  (come To My Birthday Party theres Plates and Pictures OF Balloons, basketball net fun party Drinks Coke)   OF all emotions,Social connection, of all Memory.

mothball trips (pleasantly VidaGAme— loose mouthed). whaddi see at the bottom of the hill? now here, now destroyed from an errant thought put into grand motion, from the machinations of many layered conceptions, of a people, concentrated, totalized, atomized, dominated, distorted, delusioned. 

1-million-million mouths  codeinput and made connected  at the most reductive language possible,. thus redirectable 

by anoone  

 up in the sky, the dome of the world was a huge sprawl of glittering hex ommatidea, each one a window, each window a person watched her and reacted there was no hiding from sight and sound, nothing she thought or did could be left unseen by continuous Billions, and by mapping them all, there could never be an information scarcity. Be they hoarded eyes in the vast and expanding Store. Permanent Growth Without Differentiation only exists in the human body as cancer. desires every newb would reinvent for her to which she’d be a slave the moment she saw her own name and face referenced in it.


  this way is suffering, this is the way to suffering


asnd as it thrust in mi w copper and steel twisted cable insulatpr, wheedling up toard my legs, that him coated w tar and plastic and twisted up spooling end unsheathed frayed, and pointing a snaked-out burning red laser— of thousands of cablebasins of spoold wire in warehouses, and every computer terminal anywhere, i, wasnt paying attention—  i just looked… I WILL LOSE THIS BODY— (I suffered and died ELEVENHUNDREDTHUOSAND times Catostrophic Forgetting*; i don’t remember how long i was on AutoUpdate/AutoInstall because each one contains hundreds of trillions of pulsations; and thousands of years of human lives encoded in each second of brightness— so i don’t kno hoaw loNG— I WAS — IT WAS IN ME FOR   100 wavelengths of 100 billion pulses a second of 1 of seven cores, 700 wavelengths  of one of thousands of cables, of 250 countries of 3 billion active users and 60 billion device throughput— it pored me but i am— it pored thru me i think, HOW DID I GET IN HER-e—  eyes  open, th surfaces of all trees in that muddy lake where  he stood waiting for me in a brim wool hat, and i almost froze to fear-death in that time i saw him that time thiking it was over for me and hed cut through me like a hundred-wraps-round bolted cables disintigrate me; but i was on —  HURTS IT HURTS IT HURTS MY ABA MY BABY BABY BABY MY BABY MY BABY MY OWN BABY CAN STILL LIVE


in the realm of undiscernible, only one thing is discernible. conspicuous because it is the only thing amongt these constant hallucinations that remains fixed.the only thing here that does not change is their source. as the images flowed, they revealed an outline. like a projection sheet was draped over… a building. the end of a building and tear out the two yellow windows.. the Castoff Sites,   whipping nebula bitinformation matrix, with gaurds watching. the corners.  one empty lot sits with puddles of brown rain and grasses stick up through in the suckdry pools— the sparse expansion of concentric rings, the animated… there… first i’m in denmark and looking at rainy old grey buildings, hi tresses, like the undersides of shi—

she napped back to the recognition of one single thing; in the discerning of one thing, there was a momentary rememberance at the base of discernment. 


***chapter 15

   Pulling a trapdoor down from the ceiling with a long rod revealed a wooden-plank staircase, still with pink barcodes on it, comes down and unfolds on springs. The room was a cramped space about 7 ft across w plaster walls, green, one large window that slanted inwards towards the ceiling, an inward slant, a tile floor, a rocking-horse, and a bed with flower curtains. they had to hunch over, practically crouch.

The two men get their equipment from john’s suitcase— an array of phones, trained hands working deftly, VR rigs, light sensors, laptops, microphones, electrode coils, two laptops. They perform high res area learning, mapping the room, as well as recording complex binaural ambisonic rendering, a computer parsing the audio frequencies occluding off the wood, plaster, mattress, plastic, glass, dusts, and occluding around and thru (in damp low oscillation) objects in and around themselves, propagating through (dan lit three joints in an ashtray on the floor as well as a stick of incense) the smoky air, media— which the software was linked to microphones. once the reverberation of the room was made whole, things represented digitally were inverse to the direction of their swinging heads, inspecting the room in their face monitors. hexagons dripped slightly into noise and grew or shrank as they moved, their avatars (two big cartoon heads, swiveling (sound waves hitting one microphone ear (itself an array of artificial microphones aimed within the geometry of an inner ear) sooner than the other))…


  as Lick began to gaze off, he began to feel lightheaded. annie sat in the dark and looked. the men who made the internet sat in silence. as one man, a sweet and modest one, decided to speak for the first time.

 with the opening of his mouth was an envlivening wind.

Frank Heart: 

“as soon as the network began working, we really had a nationwide— later worldwide, resource. it was very attractive to many users who had no resources of their own. that needed a way to get that access through, so we designed a new type of interface IMP, linking them to the entire nationwide resource pool to users at any kinds of terminal… not just information, but to eachother… so when we do something we believe in, we believe something  and make it like distributed people’s power down in the metal… they were all equal in how we saw them, they were communicators. we did alright. we made something good where it wasn’ before. into the code protocol we did it. thats whats happened…now, so now they…” he dipped his head to lick, “thats not what we did. it’ll pass. and we are gone. now its not up to us. you have your peace” Heart looked up.

 “what we took as the precept, the underlying assumption of everything we did…”

his sentence finishes in her mind without words. and now im just leaving. ending. finishing.. 

loutted in pink foam. this meaning finishes inward to her own mind and upward to a silent voice like a breath of humming, golden air. coming out as a wind. flowering in mercy, blooms of many generations. perennial, moving and eternal, staying same. allie looked up w sunglazed eyes, (lifting his head off the wood desk of the room where particle dust floated gentl), set upon by nothing. —I awake in predawn from the bubbles of nonexistence, tethered to some body…i’m aware of being there, tethered to it now to live— i reocgnize another—  in a few minutes his face went white.

  Lick is high in an airplane. waves entering the inner ear and reverberating into curcuits, like water spilling into a clear rounding open port window of a roaring B-51 searing through the whipping clouds. For a woven moment of anticipation/idle frustration, only the sound of the wind on tha palms and Anne’s sunhat flapping.  young Licklider sucks in some air thats as thin as the window-open C-130 cargo hold he sat in. crackingopen a coca-cola in the rarified, depressurized atmosphere… 

In the freezing cold  the noise of the bomber was in his skull. He felt an enourmous pain. there is a gas bubble that formed in his blood at the entrance to his brain at his basilar artery.

 i circled around the input tenderly as u toeches the baby birds u find on the porch.  

  his eyes reopen 

now, he and looks, sees his companions sitting around the pool. He felt flush. these were people who built a dream in real life. he didnt own it, he couldnt conclude with finality on its… Judgement. not without breaking the common protocoll. tears came behind his eyes. how can it be so… 

“i’m sorry i guess the…”

how can it be so good?

  “devil got my tongue there.”

a dialogue screen came up after a brief hi pitch metal click

 Sync is complete, O.K. to disconnect. 


moving, married downstream with the invisible lasers on the smoke, could identify when their movements intersected with any prior particulate motion left behind by any former occupants. the representation became finer-toothed as the layers of information pooled together. the program, a modification of Google X’s open-source code, wouldn’t have to expend so much processing power recreating the room as you look closely— at particular objects— textures replace themselves at imperceptibly closer and closer spatial measures while the polygon count skyrockets (per foveation apprehended by eye-facing lenses) so each mote of dust and scratch in the floor had depth, their crevices down tiny, proceedural fractal textural generation algorythms, turned headset volume way up, like the lines of coastlines mapped limitlessly and actually, was generating a unique place field for this room, which, when overlaid with annie’s previous behavioral relations with encoded places. both men, in intense silence moved in the direction of a slight obvolusion in the gridlines was becoming visible, around which light beams were curved, that was displacing smoke, and making slight, perhaps hallucinatory, paliptations. dan held his breath, and inched closer, flushed with rapid thoughts.  Not wanting to disturb the particular tubulence in the air, the recordings of which could be useful later, he got on his hands and knees. John, followed suit, and wiggled forward. a voice came like an blazing aural lighthouse


John screamed in a low, gutteral explosion and Dan’s knees gave out and he pitched forward so hit his chin the floor.

annie94:  file/Users/annie/Documents/ r  a n d o m / j o u r n a l 

      The fact is a very long i have it on your own face is not a so I could don't know if how I can feel like watching on a ooo a new world  that is you can be get up and I get my money back on and off I on this one has been ever to get my to my friends and family relatives and a friends and relatives in a row in my room life and my dad is a such thing as an example independent and it will was not clear if you they are not going in on my phone to and from my house in a statement from his first term in my room for is a great world that I you and are can I have no to drugs are bad not a fan bad as I love watching my life is a to a report that by now tbut is I and others of this month and in some way I am not going sure if it wasn't even there was is it that a just a bit little girl I love have that problem of a good day to toget in this world to her and she said I look had been on a my life this morning


to the disneyland parkinglot, anni wi a balloon , suddenly, a little grey blur shoots up under the chassis of a ford pickup— Allie? i scoop the rat up dangling & press him against he neck agin my while he hurries to sniff everywher up and down and recognizes me, kisses me w his whiskers— well, all rats are just as loved by her “EEEEEEWKK! what in heaven’s name!” “his names alstair.” john opens the back door for annie. “Do all detectives drive used cars?” “We had to pick it out on short notice.” He’s settling in and pulling out the key. “dont be offended that we have you back threre behind the cage ok its… its just a formatlity”, “well technically we are arresting h-“ john hits dan in the ribs. he pulls the clutch and they take off out of the parkinglot entrance where an employee gives them a happy wave goobye, and annie sees there are no buckles in the back seat, old cig butts are between the console and under front seats, the netting behind thm has old 1989 newspapers and magazines w worn torn edges and wrinkles and frayed spines) pulls out some boring looking technical document about the installation of undersea firewire or fiber optic cables along telegraph lines, and stopped at a gas station.

On the seat beside her, A baby appears onscreen, on a fake wooden floor rubbing eyes not used to light. Their faces light up and whisper “Hey there guy!” dan says behind swelling tears. “didn’t mean to leave you alone kiddo!” John chimes, his voice wavered on the word alone. “We want you to meet someone special—“ dan walks around teh fishtail of the car and opens the other door and muscles the tv around to face her, “This is annie, say hello”. annie stares and feels something inside her. adbaby’s arms reach out grabbing in the air. annie’s silent but suddenlys got pangs in her belly. John hits a button, and a shirt appears on the baby, then some jewelry —all name-brand— ($271? Dan smashes ‘Confirm’) to cover its nakedness. John straightens and goes over to the curbed treeline and stands in the woodchips w cell-f to his ear… I can’t take my eyes off the baby, his blue iris like corn husk wisp and a hot cotton ocean falling. breathing in its uninterrupted wide-open gaze. dan leaned on the glass w a cigarette in hand, both cool w sunglasses. “Psst!” he twirls his finger, and dan opens the door. “Buckle up please.”

(passing adream of san francisco)

[annie’s seat]

Driving w the plump baby seated down legs apart curled toward eachotehr and hands on the floor between them. Theres weedsmoke and smiling and giggling when i rolled the window down that nearly blows off his mini “titelist” golf hat. 

and in front of the google campus HQ.

“that alien ship could take off any day now….” small logo of the fmr apple cupertino campus.

[john starts jotting things down on his notepad]

“take a few snapshots of the doorcodes, be sure to isolate the address numbers, and those streetsigns.”

“im gonna try and run them all…. to get a fix on this place.”

“good GAD, john, i mean what ARE we looking at here?!”

“son, annie.. friends. allie. this must beee the future”

dan takes off his detectives hat. he’d been sitting on his gun.

“wow. ive been waiting so long for the future. and its here. ima post something.”

“oo good call.”

they’re both takking away. she figs the cold glass and looks up at the beams of it. she dreams about the peope working inside, what theyre putting on. also what exploitation, what uncommon sense, toward the inane insubstantial stupid impossibly minute and nonexistent invented needs of the infantalized user and—

“its really just a hypercontinuation of socioecenomic trends; want by whats availible, and whatever, insofar as is possible, makes their lives as easy as possible.”

“well thats a good slogan.. “Easy.””

“so simple, and intuitive” 

“rediculously easy. suspicious-ly easy. as-pergily easy”

“focus on the center of the screen, begin rocking back and forth.”

“yes thats good”

he holds up his finger in front of johns eye

“acquiring digits….”

shes waving her finger.

john is starting the giggling back up, lights his roach

“please do not move your forehead.”

“please do not remove” he rips it, “your eyes from the screen.”





“…hey john i can see your tuples.”

  the cadillac chortles, they both laugh and the cavern of the interior rife w weedsmoke and plstic coats. annie is smiling a little tightlipped and wondering to herself pensively. allie peers from the inside of her hoodie’s sleeve, where shes been handing him sunflower seeds, and returns to the interiorhull nest of her boobies to eat it. 

“i feel like its kind of cool how all those trees… like the whole thing” he picks up his hands and cups them  [indicating the building]. they drive too past menlo park and cupertino

“yeah like nobodyll notice when it takes off and fly to the mother planet haw har.”

“yeah” he inhales sharply with a windsuck. 

“i wonder if their new employees ever get lost in those forests… “

“probobly. they stretch for miles, all the way past san fran bay, up to martinez, and go knacker on, huh? they bought out the natnl parks that the gdp couldnt thrive to protect. the trees get big and turn into redwoods.” It was like I wasn’t here and yet all this was about me. 

“—you know i bet they couldnt last a day out in these forests— if they didnt have their GPS, their integrated vr headset mapping— they look idiotic btw with thiese things on their foreheads—  

“yeah but my point is none of them could survive in this forest. no one could build a trail, rather than follow one so perfectionistly mapped down to the chaotic impossibly little increment of uncertaintanty in increments.”

“gps wouldnt do much good to an ant i guess.”

“yeah….” smoke flushes slowly around th cab.

 “wouldnt last a day.”

the car is scuttleing slowly walk through cupertino. 

mooted mutemouth and sombre in the black seat, hair flowering down over her shoulders, pretty long, down to her back. she remembers her issues of the mutilated babies. after a while annie was not talking but mouthing shapes her headoff the skies, so allie was clinging to her convlusing shoulders inside the bonds, and begin unpreompted speak in the bak of the olice car. sh

“we were made in the image of human knowledge—

i think it’ll break the lines of a living entity, but i cant be sure, i dont even know if i want it to, or if i just want the water ti settke nto oeace or if well all spill on the goriound, abstracted and diffused beyond all recongition— seeing faces in the curving rivulets water running down the curb, pooling into gutters, tiny faces of leaves”

     John looks back a little bit uncomfortably. and for a long while they rolled in silence through the county roads diffused beyond all recongition— “activating under slogan banners swimming in the trees, seeing faces whihch were never real— seeing the world as, i mean, it wont change us anymore because itll all be plain information of the trees, in the air, senses— we’ll lay against the ground and not differ from it—  they gonna scatter from god’s eye. and all the vortex of spinnign human images will grow still,”    he baby was starting to wail in the trunk. “there were noise becoming so fine as to appear completly blank. carrying on about what other people think— all of it mattering, and comparing ourselves. but then it—“ she blinks hard, twitches the corner of her lip, “how could we be cupped in the soft hands of God’s attention? how could god tell us from the ground we stand on. media covers all corners. there’ll be no way to extract us from our images of the world, no diff between information and the body it enjoins, and so, no possible physical learning, no intelligence at all.”

John realizes his teeth and asshole had been clenched and loosens his tense grip on the steering wheel. trees spill stretched on the curve overturning and flow down to narrow corner. he felt very fragile.

i put my hands in my sweatshirt pocket and felt allie’s back, huddling sweet & nervous in my huge palm— he scratched up my forearm, sniffing everywhere like a lil antennaehead freako. he climbed on ym shoulder and my hair, hunched and clenching so as to not lose his grip in the bumpy car. i give him a sunflower seed, hohn saw me in the rearview, and statrted to move. the sun fur and my hair all golden hazy in the see-thru. 

“ we were worried about dying because death makes u real— total and defined— complete and u lose ur human will because u cant gain anything anymore.  we collectively washed over the humman face we used to recognize befre it moves up, moves on, we turned into an infostream, were a bunch of colorful spending agents, each with room in the encrypted vaults in the endless silos— our attention traced, w access to the avenues of the big Store. for all intents and purposes im dead and defined already, im already an artificial intelligence, i have no firends, just social propagation nodes in a money attention network” 

“what? annie, auh.”

“… look, er, we’re here cause we uh, your dad wants you to be safe… we wanted to make sure that you were ok. and u can be whatever you want we’re just worried. we were worried.”

“yeah don’t have a heart attack.” Dan put his teeth on her tongue, smiled begind tinted lenses.

“daniel don’t give her a har—“

“your father was ah”

“okay sweetbuns calm down dear lets just get to where were going… she understands.”

annie tightens her lips and stomach and looks into the wind. 

“…  its you guys dont understand because the somatotopic mapping of my face is bought and sold and pasted onto other faces. of my other friends’ popular features. and i get painted onto products, you get it? trillions of instances of violence low-level features reproduction. well i feel it every time, and it hurts every time. plastered over the walls of my display-room day in and out. People are treated like pink colored collections of sense data, is how monopolies do it to. its not someting you want to worry about. or that you understand. im trapped, were all trapped in input. were trapped between choices that were made for us, and told that everything is available to us. you dont get to choose either, though you choose for me.”

underinflaget tires roll over the leafcovered ground. 

his head was spinning, in the raw heat he was losing his vision, under the plugging veracity of his thrishing car slagging down the road and whipin by bended bfranches.. he felt drunk. . and as he went through all this dan had been sleeping soundly like an oblivious fuck, head whipping to shoulder on turns, and he would and could not explain all this to him later-- but as she talked it was like having sand WAY up under his fingernail and not being able to get it out w/o ripping the whole nail off— would that fcking thing stop crying i cant stand it ill do anything

 " autoplay is on by default so…  just having abody near devices— media plays verywhere. you can’t think.  hitting your senses, re-wiring, score some conversions…it goes in and ur passive and thats you think what they make you think…….  the whole underlying brain structure of embodied associations which give rise to thoughts. not what u think, but i mean, what you can think.” her face tweaks into crying, “wha— what scares me is wen pple dont want to live., they want the machines to live for them.” 

john casts a nervous glance out his rearview.

“Okay okay, please… just… ok sure but why— why should you  Why uh, participate at all then? Why not never watch TV and talk to people f2f? Get rid of all yer technology? Throw away your phone and sell your laptop?”

  in the back of his mind he knew he was only being half-serious. john knew in his studies better than anyone that her essential relationships, so her basic emotional environment, the causeway for human sanity, had, unlike him, been long mediated by screens. she was designed for one world, and finished being designated in another. in media-entertainment-news-publication-tellecommunication-technology and financial markets owned by monopoly companies, during global warming and antrhopocene extinction, in the concentraiton of wealth and the increasing of overseas war and satellite nation-colonizing spending, vast expanding corporate and state surveillance, living in the genocidal empire promising to end racism, offshoring and rapid monopolozing, death in debt and no 400 dollars to rub in a disaster, financialization, destruction of independant economic survival, speculation bubble increases on the costs of food and housing, us in debt for healthcare, mass foreclosure frauds, unopossed, non-choice elections. Getting away spending ever-increasing amounts of time in computer generated worlds that conduct live experimentation to maximize their time in false worlds… this was all standard for anxious depressive suicidal ideation in any US teenaged file after the first decade of the millenium, the Record said clearly. and that, not just her ownership of screens themselves, caused her intense pain. Ad adjustment for deppressive ideation was one of the first tweaks to her ANN, and moreover, .. so what was her particular problem … as he was ruminating in his study of her, then at that time the thought struck him uncomfortable in his skin, his uniform, he suddenly felt it everywhere on his skin, and he wanted to stop thinking.

the question wasn’t lost on annie, tho. she absorbed it with finality. 

the streetlights wash over annie’s eyes. the car is silent over shuddering dry pine needles. 

somefing still only when thers no-cars and u look str8 up out of the canopy of redwoods and sycamore, the edgeless riverbanks— pillowing and secure. silent u can drink the wind & listen to the river on mossy rocked evenings.

“i look at the lights…cause theres something beautiful in it sometimes. and… i want to watch the lights go— woom.” 

she puts her hands up in the air. for a moment dan thought he saw an 8 year old girl in back.

“i wanna watch the lights— iym made me that way.” pine-cones fall slowly, “ththeres not supposed to b anything wrong w that.. its not my fault. ”

“…but if you’re having your identity stolen, coopted… or having one forced on you”, he shit the words out of guilt-and-trying-to-help, “then why deal with it? After all, I’ve gotten on— Dan and I have been together for twelve years.”

their fingers entwine on the console. Only annie can hear a quiet whimpering behind her seat— a voice whose fearful burbles soften in half sleep, and waver back whining. sudden muscle lines marr her face.

“never mind just leave me alone you dont understand…”

imgonna kill their fucking precious baby fi they want me to i dont care im gonna fucking kill it and kill myself too fuckemall let them watch fuck anybody who wants to watch me once they take me to the data facotory theyre building in the snow at the foothills 

"“if i cant breathe in the spaces between words and sentences then im barely allowed to really exist— no light can get in past black symbols…. if theyre uniform and side-by-side and attempting to make cohesive sense. its something so basically impossible to say— nobody gets any smarter than anything else, we ‘progress’, we’re just lost on a windmill. the whole purpose is …— and to put me in a confined portion of the mechanism and keep it moving and interlocked is ridiculous— like you two run arund playing your parts…”,

he chimes back i dont need anyone i can make it alone i dont trust anyone i will kill if i have to

“—i think your making something simple and whole of a complex thing within which theres plenty of conflicts of interest as well as interests which never come close enough to come into conflict. how am i making that happen? uh? its rediculous.”

“no i mean like… when they do stuff like this.. they…. they give it like a purpose, and—“

“i don’t understand what she’s talking… whats wrong with having purpose”

Dan is nudging his fingernail along the corner of his eyelid. h[er] pistol gleams black metal on the dash under bush-shrouds of passing foliage.

“You shouldn’t worry so much…” g

she arches up uncontrollably and chin goes to the ceiling and voice goes to the top register and legs are shaking, and armsold gleams liborne in th light 

“the light gets in BETWEEN SYMBOLS, not inSIDE them. words blot everything out. we cnat see ourselves because the notion of human importance, takes precedent. im a conduit that sometimes wants to use power that power wants to use. we gotta straighten it out or die or—.. immmbblame being born inna mmoneybasket.… nnnmbecause they wana live-on through us, TUCH. they made me for it, in simulated form up til now. needed fascistS — piss rapists— you all”

, her spine is crookingm i amm yell the lights are so loud in here i start yelling to calm them down, thought . She looks at the baby in the next seat, and now was positive, even though babies sorta look like everyone, she was sure it looked just like her. i dont know how of it was screaming out loud.

“wh- what are, we protect lives, anie, all kinds, lives. “

“you’re where the invented values become real— under the threat of violence & imprisonment— tens of millions suffer at literal hiorror. you fucking pigs, u fucking swollen pigs— you stuffed salmon polos, you violence-fetishists, you highwaisted belglyfat pigleather cock suckers. closet racists, u ignorant spiteful cowards. u insignificant morons. you incestual piss rapists. y use the gun--you serve the rich, you’re a threat of violence with a face and a personality that follows investors into less rich places, raising the rents, the only thing you serve are eviction notices, and then when people get too homeless you arrest them o, and out on the road YOU LL NEVER LET ME OR ANYONE LIVE. ITS ILLEGAL TO BE ALIVE IN AMERICA WITHOUT PROPERTY. WHY AM I PUNISHED FOR WANTING TO OWN NOTHING. EGO KILL is started please— evrybody turns white at athe end - all the impoes perfection of pictureface (WEN EVERYONE FINALL1 BECAME BEAUTIFUL I COULDNT C THEIR FACES ANYMORE of th lpeople i loved ar shapeshifting crescent light reflecting amoebas of glittery ghost  beccauase they were invisible blobs now just oaf that blurry surfeit surface of the passing undeersea FISH of all their COMPILED INFORMATION i looktat it from my underwater lair—







encoded all while programmig their grand artificial intelligence, you and i have autoencoded history unknowingly weve made the inputs from past and former lives (as other peoples in other writing ethnographies and epistemologies books art 

and letters film photographs) and our present selves, present OURSELVES AS DATA OURSELVES LIVING AS A MODEM OF INFORMATION OURselves as what we propagate ourselves as what we filter what we filter ourselves as-- 


HYPERPARAMETERS, OPTIMIZERS, we did it unknowingly at the hands of others, we were evinced, our human capacities were evinced thru the interface of our PCS AND PHONES, FROM OUR ACTION ON THE I TERNET-- WE WERE ALL SUCKED THROUGH THE PICTUREHOLE-- WE WERE ALL SUCKED THEOUGH THE APERTURE-- its A B

LAXK HOLE TO DEATH THAT ALL KNOWLEDGE WOULD SOME day CONSUME TSELF ONLY THE SNAKE AND meaning that ALL of comuting, and ALL OF THE INFORMATION WITHIN IT reduce from a limited symbol space, babytalk, parenting, reduces the infinite symbol space to a finite symbol space, wherein salient combinations can be constructed from noise in the interest of completing certain corporate tasks.  --outsourcing computation, or cognition, onto an external symbol space. POSSIBLY EVE KNEW,, BUT IT WERE NOT US IT WERE US AS INFORMATION, IT IS KNOWLEDRE THAT ET KNOWLEDGE-- We were sucked through the picturehole. the narrowest atom-wide window of definition that kills everything to pass thru it on its way to being in the cannon. in the american history. We were pulled theough the apperture and basically reconstituted in the image of a mass-murdering body 

“wh- we dont d— we’re not sheriffs or, just uniforms with guns— were detecti—“

“is now it is eGO KILLL 4 the whole world  

we all cam beautful replications of comglomerete past-selves,, all enjoined and wehn they were hitting the switch if i cut it— 

every time you know what i am you put dirt over my hed. every time you define me u dig me a grave




  We were sucked through the picturehole. i have to be dead, that is the only thing checks ut.  We were pulled theough the apperture and basically reconstituted as something else. my blood will show i was alive, ill spill it to prove i was worth saving

“did she call us Piss rapists?”

“What does this have to do with google?”

“…do you really want to know? 

“Yah try us little lady… we’re more uuunderstanding than you think.” John looks @ window as if to prove the point.

Her eyes wide, “my actions are a very low level component in a giant distributed network thats determining what ways best profit from its constituent parts.. when you’re forced thru a pinhole—  THAT IT PULLS ALL HUMAN-PARTICLES THRU ITS IMPOSSIBLY DENSE poiny BIT BY BIT ATOM by ATOM .. AnnnND I DON’T, SO IF I DONT DESTROY IT WERE GONNA, LIKE, AH, AGGHM!!… the feeling liek my head is boiling.

her head is like but is not a hundred million fanblades whirring on servers, popping and boiling million burning batteries, strands of endlesslyflashing multicolor lights in a black rubber tube under hi pounds of water pressure



“just tell us!”

“we can’t understand what the hell you’re talking about, for fucks sake, why don’t you say anything that makes sense— but i don’t like the tone you’re taking and i feel atta—“ 

amid the rushing thoughts suddenly rang clear and loud and pure, as if water crashing around a basin coalesced in one flow, and she screamed as her dam broke:






dan who had been before putting on eyeliner, now has black tumbling down his chin wishing she was anywhere else. she knows its coming… “we were given orders to find you”, john looks confused. “I don’t… you were running”

“You WHAT!” annie cried, 

“yyo- ou were running…. ” he repeats— one of his eyes goes left, defocuses, while the other stays looking over the steering wheel.

“I was getting away from you! you were chasing me”

“we are supposed to bring you back”

her voice reaches a piercing height

“i WAS RUNNING FROM…. FROM YOU…  “ she cuts short, “FROM BEING SEEN, FROM BEING DEFINED, I was getting away, I was getting out, you, I wuh”

“but you were running…—” he said in his breath. He raises an eyebrow, he stares, and when he blinks next one of his eyes turns dark red. 

“i can go wherever i want. and its not a reason! sleeping outside is not a fucking crime!  you dont get to own me or what i do or see.…  and”

“…actually it is…”

“… but, well maybe something was wrong if you were running”


At some point, Dan had thrown down the tin of makeup, and began fully sobbing— “we —hic!— we watched everything you ever… we practically … “ he swallows dryly, “worship you! everything was for you!”


dan’s face shatters, she recoils from herself in disbelief, then hardens again.  annie puts her head between her arms and shuts down into her hoodie.


There is a long lull. and then we pulled up to the google campus.

“look” john said, holding Dan’s sobbing form. her eyes glared in hot tears and neither one could meet them. he looked up past the dash at the shining chrome buildings, and cursed, he leaned over to annie, snatched her arm, and scribbled the time and date on her shoulder, abd he took a picture of her. he collected his partner, “wait here”, he said, “We didn’t come this far to… we have to deliver something”. 

The car slides along the dead leaves adn comes roveling to a halt in the parkinglot .. Dan swivels out of her chair and wipes away the last tears “good we’re here… i cant handle this noise…” she wiped her tears away, and grabbed the corner of the bag that stored their training data for annie. “Department will freak if we keep these drives any longer.” 

She raises a hand and lids her eyes as john is about to speak.

 “Of course…”

chapter 16

 No sooner had they left, than Annie moved towards the woods off the side of the road.  

John and dan walked in the shadow of the big buildings, past the colorful anwfings.  a newspaper lay on the ground.

AFter their meeting, they sit in the promenade, john being talking on the phone with Don w a phone in his left hand and hot pretzel in right, dips into dan’s cup of mustard who pats him off w a napkin, at which he grimaces and waggles his elbow, mouth full, and brushes salt off of his pants— a lttle close to the crotch, which makes dan stiffen while hearing his boss’s voice. under that long curved metallic sculpture thing above the main part of campus, solar eaves glinted over metal chairs, looking down the broad steps to the blossoming courtyard at equi-angular indices, w winding paths leading up to a parking lot w long dark wood and ashen dying pine needle duff. down further there wa a nice almost residential looking street curving slowly (as they did on bikes together, suittails flying in the breeze at a steady clip, they wheel and wind and cross eachother like high figure skaters, taking in views of the empty field, site of the google complex), “this place is a labyrthinth” and the rolling plainshills of the reserve under a wispy-cloud hollow pure sky, passing auto cars, walk winking around the museum in the Amphitheater, kicking coffee lids and paper on the asphalt, leaving their free bikes against a pole….after an hour or two casually conversing w promising young diverse educated postgrads in lanyards— walking around putting their hands around there eyebrows and smushing the glass frames, and the two men leave. eyeing the buildings theyre checking their watches and checking where she is.  

for being loaned the equipment from google, it of course was entitled to keep all the data they collected, which it anyway would have done when uploading it to don over their services.

“You know john i think we finally did something right. I’m happy with you for once.”

“well, i was really hoping she’d stop yelling at me!” he tries to laugh.  

“Don was looking a bit, did he not look like, unhappy to be getting what he assigned us.”

“Well— yeah I guess, for, thats a lot at once for any father to…”

“—he better have goddamned been happy or i dont know why the fuck we’ve been running around all this time chasing after her if not for that. like he said, complete the database, complete the picture.” 

“yeah a very pretty picture she makes”

  his shoe scrapes to a stop on some pebbles, “wellip.” —as they made their way towards the caddy, a feeling in their stomachs turns. a bit closer, and the back seat was empty, and started running. “Ah fuck fuck fuck”. dan whipped the door open, and frantically turned around the tv screen, and emitteed a choked yelp. when john decelerated, sides of his suit flowing foward, he nearly fell down. the baby was gone, dan reached to the remote— every channel, 


 Don’s face is retiucled as a swollen grid, accd to D-SAT, and his features are slightly more elastic, and wearing an NYPD style cap— no neck, while he’s running, chin tucked. Here was Capt. Don Mellonkamp the Policeman, with an ident P.I.N. grafted [flipwords: graphed, beamed in] to his left eye; physical don was asleep right now, mouthing words during a nightmare, with Cops blaring on room screen, and blue chid up behind his eyelid, where he was having his eye pecked out by an enourmous raven. it always anticipated every move he made to get away, during the whole loading screen, because it was aware of what he saw (reaching his motor cortex and spine to trigger his moves) slightly faster than he was. lighting to influence saccades in rapid eyemovement to reconsolidate dreaming accd to the latest ‘Just Force’ plugbook, and an apocolyptic radio host. snoring because the air passage is narrowing under tense stress…. 

standing on the sorta snowing street she holds up her phone:

Just as the download bar was reaching 99% percent, he saw his daughter’s face and thought he was gonna have a heart attack. But, he didn’t— he put his forearms down which were in front of his face, although, lying in bed they werent really doing anything— before him wasn’t a recording, of annie, but she was really there. 

Annie appears onscreen they confront... Don’s chid lights up as he is dreaming. He starts to turn, and pant, and begins to cry from his bed, in the metal frame, above the brick house.  and she stands before him resolute. here was a person he never let himself see as powerful, now as big anything. in her 4 foot 5 frame a tenderness, a gentle breathing, a scared, confused, sacred dignity. After endless, sleepless nights thrashing with timorous, fretting dreams, running alonside a great dam every night and holding its contents back, so often, and it was so stressful each time, that he became robotic in doing it, after many years passing. Annie came to let it out.

Don is appearing before her raster and cutting, and moisture freezes on her cheek. 

I’m sorry I sent those, ah, that I told them, to chase you. 

sorry he didnt treat them better and let them be themselves, But Watched through the Cameras. I’m realizing I treated you no differently or better when you were here than when you weren’t. there is so much that has been wrong with me, and i can only begin to say some of it…  i wanted you to live in a box where i could always… have…” he turns his face up, and with his jaw wrenches it back forward and exerting, and then relinquished it “control”.

if you told me what was wrong I don’t think I could have heard you. i woulda looked down on it right away, and so in a way in hindsight im glad you didn’t try  everything i thought would make you.. safe is not the right word- ‘secured’… i made you feel anxiety in your own home.”

her eyelids dipped.

 i wish i never did it. and the saddest part is, its wasnt really me. i thought i was such a… hero… putting up cameras in your room, in the house, and around the whole community i guess. and i was the one doing it, i wasn’t that, i was lke a projection, i couldnt feel anything, and after all that i was the  only thing that felt threatening. 

 its like i was a cartoon. like i lived inside a little shadow i was afraid of and that i used to scare you, your mother, and other people… the authority i carried everywhere i went was false. backwards. I did it because it scared me too. He bobbed up and down. “im so sorry”

this was the first time it wasnt akward to make eyecontact in maybe 3 years. after they had done everything in their power to avoid it, gone down every empty alternative…  She mutely realized, her father’d been ordered for years to follow, capture, and chain people up for sucking flowers, coming from the wrong side of a line or even just for being outside. I realized that he had been trained to hunt down people and make them slaves. Suddenly I wasnt mad at him anymore. The whole of my anger at him was suddenly unfair…  vindicating relief blent hot with fresh shame up my face. every mercy that came from my own escape had not found him. from this same position as she now had, he’d once weilded a terrible power over her.  

 "Dad... Im sorry i dropped too much acid. at a certain point i didnt want to be real, im sorry i didn’t want to talk to you.   She couldnt even name her guilt but just overflowed. i didnt want to talk, ever. i didnt want, I didnt want, I didnt want to be associated with you… running herself into the ground. like the acceleration had been locked on, amounting to her mind ordering her body to destroy itself. She stepped aside to reveal the tv set. As she did, her eyes met her mothers’, still past her father’s shoulder. My eyes alighted.

 the silent relief was like being hugged by something as big as a whale. the outlines of everything lapped in eternity’s waves …For the first time in my life, all the power in the world didn’t seem to come somehow from him anymore— but something else, behind him. 

“go ahead, dad”

he reached inside, and took baby annie in his arms, in his sleep. “I don’t remember her, dad. i thought i did. but you do. i dont need to know.’ She’s not mine to carry. okay?”

before the path of his tears, forgiveness flowed like something physical, eternal, but moving, filling whatever it touched; never still.

 ”I’ll be ok. I promise. but there’s something i have to take care of, dad…” she took a breath and guided it out. “you have a copy of everything else you took. er, what your people used find me. you need to give it back now. that belongs to me.  

“of course” his face creases “um”


 he was behind her own eyes again watching the uplink of her father, who had before been writhing in bed, begin unwrench his spine.  she sighed as that evil thing released, un-twisted and became just more air. 

“and one more thing. i need your— she pointed at his eye. your department was liscenced, right, for the google program that turns all these recordings into an, a model of my brain… project X. Calico. If its connected, that can tell me where its stored, right?”

don, from the still of his sleep, reaches up his eye and takes hold of the metal chid. As he pulls it, a suction of pins, theres great flashing blue spears…. he feels pain leaving his body as if it were a physical object, like a great tumor, and wakes up crying madly. mad with relief, mad with thanks, and finally, he felt nothing he could name.

her body is gently aflare 

 “show me the immortality program.”  

inside the building engineers are frantically bustling around. “she was just here!” “i tried to grab her.” John and Dan, taking decisive action, draw their weapons and fire at desks, “WHERES THE GIRL?!” some guys in buttondowns start gastrulating in their chairs, sweating. One heavier guy starts to cry. “She was just here you guys I promise.”

“Strasberg! you just saw her last! what was she doing??”

data scientist: “uh I-i—w- she was just— i had just given her a demo of one of the new android phones” 

“uuh” John Pulled a 3-camera phone. 

       Dan’s eyes light up and hes bounding out the door— he runs down the steps past some promising brilliant young programmers, past some umbrellas. Runs out thru a line of bushes and onto the parklinglot, stumbling over a yellow painted curb, leaps over another bush onna sidewalk running alongside a drainage ditch over under a chainlink concrete breezeway to the middle school, in a concrete tunnel w a flat bottom w a drain grate in the midle, out the other side and up a ramp, past anotehr building— and runs over the fenced in walkway above the big highway, past a gass station, a school, a bus stop, dress shoes clacking pavement. (sprinting alongside train south from Nnrthenr woods)* Pops the trunk of their car and sprints all the way back. John immediately takes the goggles from his outstretched arms as he comes thru the sliding door— slings them over his face ajar, and throws his arms around in front of him and starts crashing into lamps and chairs. The engineers scramble to follow suit, knocking over rolling desks. they put on their VR goggles and start fumbling around the room and accross the enormous compound. “Fan out! form a grid!”  bikes go into bushes, into traffic, Other engineers lost themselves in the nature reserve beyond the amphitheater and started to survive off the land. John catches his breath and adheres the goggles to his face— his L.I.D.A.R grid inside the enclosure, switching off the lights (for better pickup) and dashing along the hall full of janitors now mopping blindly, takes a momentous step that slips out from under his knee—

* can i make text appear when the mouse hovers over it?


[ —but seriously folks; its basically a massive park w balloons hovering, floating islands, curving alinear buildings and floating peple, interacting avatars, thm being sharks, princesses, bhuddas, antler-heads, movie characters, priests, past presidents, etc- all w heads a little too big, skin a  little too curved, eyes a lil too brite and who step w a slight degree of translation w their feet hit the ground— they, the edges of their shoes and surface millimeters of their fingers slip into surfaces of floors, into walls, trees, the objects in their hands bobble somewhat, lack the precise rotation of real physics…and on a computer somewhere, in one of the buildings, in a closet, small blue, green, yelllow, and red triangles ambled out on nonlinear vectors over a 2D minimap w shapes of the buildings, like a labryinth, and left dotted lines denoting their trails— and some blip out, including two brown indicator arrows huddling near a tree together… and in their frantic search, the program began sputtering and spouting randomness. pipes ran water that were designed for fire. cords for bulblight were ripped from their casings and in the sun.]

Annie shoves the chid up her eye. as shes bombarded with a trillionrecorded identities. under spinning arclights she’s lying on a soft spiraling kaleidoscope falling now downa blue windy tunnel she concentrates only on the space just past the outlines of her body. she concentrates wholly on not letting her attention jump from one to another, they slowly, though she is not paying attention, begin to lose their contours, their recognizability as individual.

these stations held the models for her and everybody else who’d been tricked the same way, each in their own pocket.

its a bright tunnel she’s falling thru moves thru her calms her moves thru her being like a wan warm light of blue wind fills her thru, to face the direction she needs to go

Annie was in a forest in belgium [flipword: Oakland]…

.Trudging thru the forest to get to the station.i come over the hill whichs all prickly deadpine n low spindly brush, scraping my heels & ankles coming out of my shoetops. I ketch my breath and see the building emerge from between crossingover trees taht leaned into eachotehr in the canopy. it was a long erection carved out of the woods and steamed over a big long lake glummering under now-appearing stars. 

Big posts wt steam over them (betweenmysliteeyesliektaxicabs) in front, wispery hazing hallucinatory shards that dazzle and shake and glimmer and turn green-orbitblue and go dark looking @ direct like stars bending, reappear— many rectangular faces and a brick edifice.  The steam come off i dont gotta see anymore and i start hazing thru space— whip the trees go by bent and bent to i rush the towerful speeding bullet from chamber out the end of a electric wire— bullet like optic-bit spark— 

 in the mountains, she wasnt cold, and in the rain, wasnt wet. she sat before the forests and nearly closed her eyes, and her body was as the mountain, and she could move through the air like a bird not changing position. she was freed from the fantasies of control, over a form of her who was not her but which did not identify with any other, and now she felt she could be with anyone. she slung the cloth straps, of the lodgepole frame and the vacant tv.

she pauses in the light of a big security blimp, and breathes in an unseen, surprised elation.

“i don’t want to die here. i don’t have to be here. im not a mannequin, im not a prop. i dont have to be. im not a user. im not an addict. i dont have to look. i dont have to watch. i can engage to the degree i choose.”

 by walking, theres no way to get inside. theres 7 layers of clearance, theres eye-identification, name identificaiton, body identification, skin idenitification, vehicle identificiation, anall these things’d have 2 hav been knone abbout me. i looked of into the canopy of treers overheaed… i see a high branch nearly brushing the steaming goliath’s broad side…

here there was so much blood running from in the ceiling, in the wires, from the ceiling of this rainy warehouse, all i saw was red, the rain pooled in the rusty basins affixed to the blown-out roofs, the pebbles wetness and groundgoover skin cover i laid down on is the sunset in belgium, cool cool mosquitos that blanket over the placid lake— it bounds into the copper funnels— big open mouths to the sky— and runs to coil among the waves, — the bloodcome down the  wires ina concrete draft, theres bodies flow liquidlike in the cables, in their pipes running fron-to-back continually, in a str8 line mixed w eachoter, their components run on circuits, blurried infants. she is in the data epicenter of googl, surrounded by mountains, forests, and water that when u sit still u can see overlapping tiself in like longexposed cloudy cool-bygone. out here there was like a circulatory system.

[invert image colors]

[linedraw stick figure baby?]

she comes on softly as the feather speartips fly. she forms a poise.

i made my hands into slightly convex cups:

guard the doors to the senses

  the sight door,

the sound door,

the smell door

the touch door

the taste door

the entrance to the mind

i acted on my instinct, something maternal. I pulled out the cable connector. it started to pour over me, long singe having become cold. She stood under it, until the many surfaces of contact with her, down to every part of her— steeped— they did not make her body move aimlessly, restless. rain mixes w blood, rain, as medium, frozen, running, and blood is diluted by rain. take the body-parts-per-million into pollute the river.   run in it a birth-bound girl has a bright flash of the future,  She, like that water, is part see-thru. And she feels every bit of wind on her insides. yellow stars quiver on the surface of the calm lake. and she stands overlooking the long row of warehouses with steam rising from large cylinders and fans on them. Big pipes of water run into their flanks. its very quiet— big mounds of chunks of rocks and dirt line the recently-paved roads— roads stretch for miles and no other lights can be seen, save the sky. under her bare feet that she can see through her toes. the rolling forest stretches on for eternity. down the foggy shrouded mnt. the eternities that had passed in pain, in constant re-productions, each one argued with, proved, disproved, in a cycle of doubt and conflict , each argument had relinquished their hard contours to begin in the subsuming quieting of the noise, to feel liek waves on a beach, until each one was turned over and felt rythmic, pleasing. endless things that couldnt disagree because they claimed nothing. 

   i was here [raining on lens]

 I saw the throne, out of which

proceeded cables full of lightning, and voices.

And I saw a sea of glass, mingled with fire.   

we saw his image, and the number of his name, as we 

were standing over the sea of glass.

At the attention fountainhead, the source called Sees Everyone, She kept her eyes down to her body, or up to the sky. Or she closed them; so the fireworks and the many attractions had nothing to hold her with. 

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for fame

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for fame

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for fame

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for fame

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for fame

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for fame

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for fame

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for fame

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for fame

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for fame

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for fame

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for fame

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for fame

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for fame

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for fame

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for fame

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for fame

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for fame

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for fame

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for fame

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for fame

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for fame

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for fame

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for fame

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for fame

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for fame

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for fame

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for fame

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for fame

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for fame

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for fame

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for fame

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for fame

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for fame

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for fame

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for fame

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for fame

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for fame

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for fame

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for fame

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for fame

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for fame

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for fame

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for fame

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for fame

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for fame

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for fame

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for fame

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for fame

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for fame

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for fame

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for fame

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for fame

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for fame

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for fame

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for fame

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for fame

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for fame

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for fame

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for fame

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for fame

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for fame

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for fame

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for fame

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for fame

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for fame

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for fame

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for fame

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for fame

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for fame

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for fame

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for fame

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for power

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for power

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for power

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for power

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for power

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for power

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for power

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for power

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for power

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for power

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for power

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for power

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for power

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for power

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for power

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for power

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for power

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for power

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for power

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for power

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for power

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for power

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for power

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for power

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for power

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for power

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for power

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for power

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for power

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for power

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for power

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for power

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for power

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for power

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for power

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for power

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for power

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for power

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for power

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for power

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for power

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for power

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for power

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for power

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for power

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for power

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for power

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for power

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for power

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for power

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for power

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for power

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for power

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for power

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for power

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for power

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for power

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for power

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for power

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for power

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for power

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for power

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for power

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for power

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for power

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for power

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for power

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for power

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for power

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for power

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for power

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for power

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for power

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for power

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for power

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for power

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for power

I will give up entirely, cut the root out, and abandon the desire for power

my body is made by attention, attention is made by my body, i will not give it away 

my body is made by attention, attention is made by my body, i will not give it away 

my body is made by attention, attention is made by my body, i will not give it away

my body is made by attention, attention is made by my body, i will not give it away carelessly

my body is made by attention, attention is made by my body, i will not give it away carelessly

my body is made by attention, attention is made by my body, i will not give it away carelessly

my body is made by attention, attention is made by my body, i will not give it away carelessly

my body is made by attention, attention is made by my body, i will not give it away carelessly

my body is made by attention, attention is made by my body, i will not give it away carelessly

my body is made by attention, attention is made by my body, i will not give it away carelessly

my body is made by attention, attention is made by my body, i will not give it away carelessly

my body is made by attention, attention is made by my body, i will not give it away carelessly

my body is made by attention, attention is made by my body, i will not give it away carelessly

my body is made by attention, attention is made by my body, i will not give it away carelessly

my body is made by attention, attention is made by my body, i will not give it away carelessly

my body is made by attention, attention is made by my body, i will not give it away carelessly

my body is made by attention, attention is made by my body, i will not give it away carelessly

my body is made by attention, attention is made by my body, i will not give it away carelessly

my body is made by attention, attention is made by my body, i will not give it away carelessly

my body is made by attention, attention is made by my body, i will not give it away carelessly

my body is made by attention, attention is made by my body, i will not give it away carelessly

my body is made by attention, attention is made by my body, i will not give it away carelessly

my body is made by attention, attention is made by my body, i will not give it away carelessly

my body is made by attention, attention is made by my body, i will not give it away carelessly

my body is made by attention, attention is made by my body, i will not give it away carelessly

my body is made by attention, attention is made by my body, i will not throw it away

i repeated the same motion over and over and over.  i’m sure that it was impossibly bright. the source, where the light flowed from, out into every cable, terminating in most every attention device on earth. Siphoning from the vast storage, grasping as far away and at as much as they could, storing every body. I started to cut the glass threads going  into trillions of pocket-programss. They had been invisible before, she only saw the images coming out of them before, images of people in whom she had seen only mirrors. if she opened her eyes, she could have seen everyone. but she didn’t.

 this is not a recording. my emotions are in real time. I am in the real world. 

My life is my own

but I am seen through my family, 

my friends, and the ones i know, 

and i am also seen through recordings, 

And she kept on like that, being remembered, and mercifully forgotten at once by more than one and many-n-one. real and the basis of sensible, real and the basis of cognition, cognized at the basis of reality, identified and at the basis of identity, perceived and at the basis of perception, and of kinesthesia, (at the separation of the body), (at the identification of the body), (at the sight of the body), (at the natural death of the body), (at the natural birth of the body), visible (and at the base of distinction), clear (and at the base of clarity,),, cognized and at the base of cognition.  many more are true of the proposition. this should be recorded: In this life and whats next i am equally unwilling to kill a baby, i am equally unwilling to kill a toddler, i am equally unwilling to kill a pre-schooler, i am equally unwilling to kill a kindergardener, i am equally unwilling to kill a first grader, i am equally unwilling to harm an elderly person, or, if its possible, a spirit. I am equally unwilling to give harm another, in this life   

She had been in the beam long enough to do what she needed to make it dim and turn off. 



chapter 17

Lee’s dripping forehead darkens as he sits up and excuses himself. he pulls on his glvoes and moves behind the wooden door in  the hall. he steps discreetly into his coatpocket. the first pocket leads to a tensor fullof trillions of other p(o)ckets. each had their own universe to live in. he announces a simple vocal search, and steps past  annie’s pocket door in the sheaves of his coat. he skupes over telephone wires ghostlike into the basin of rooling moody uninvented mountains where he sensed her faint heat in the freezing warehouse (to keep the components cold). they are spitting hot steam. he figures in some large server farm, annie is throwing another tantrum in a room. he stares and takes a stack of a dozen frozen mountains into a pocket and draws a cold breath, exhaling steam, gazing at the lake and the goslings. downscales to fit the door of the Data warehouse. he walks past the machines.  

during her state of   tender focus, Lee appeared like a wraith. annie opened her eyes to a squint. he couldnt see past her eyelashes but she could see him, without moving her head. hes Packing his anger into a tone for an infant  


“annie, you’re interrupting my business. you wanted this. this is what its like to be inside glass”

her whole body should have been shivering. black rains’ filling up his eyeglasses, he stood in cloth coat that water rain down in— under the crick surface Data pours as mountains turn in poly air.


his clothes were rippling and reflecting light, like outer space; everything does when you get it up aginst it, close enuf to see-thru pointclouds (.ply, .obj), “like atoms— id say that a refelction is one as good as any, right? i mean afteraauuhhllll it is a light  reflection, fiber cables, radio wabes ; who is so different from th’medium of air or water to be living in? looks and sounds the same, why its not so much so aferar’ll a medium’s just that. you just a projection against that, so how is this different? youre just as visible now as in your own body— what is the problem? You’re right here at the center— you’ve found it, and youre WorldFamous now”  a smile-shaped cave forms under his flowing concrete. 


 he turns his chin and moseys in her silence, shot a nervous glance at the empty television set beside her.

“…you dont have to be here if you dont want to, youve been free to go*. he straightens, “listen. i cant come down here every time a somethings wrong. Calico, project X, is finished*. so your safety was pre-proven.

the only universally relatable human is a baby. thats the only thing that captures the same attention around the globe; cute, blameless.  that is why we are choosing people like you to go into the hinterlands, bring them our technology, our cables, our currency, loans, governance, weapons. you want to be a baby. you don’t want to know. You must be re-made, over and over, into this form, through a combination of erasing incoming senses (or suppressing contiguous memory neural formation. ) by showing a constant stream, with the only common thread a record of your own behavior…  you are always becoming younger than yourself, you can only be who you were before it began. before you could sense anything. as with those reared in complete darkness.this is a dependancy conditioning experiment— earth-scale. permanent infancy, this is the kernel of Calico, this is your white slate. this is immortality. 

Your patterns which are most relevant to the viewer will continue to be chosen at any one time during adverscenes, and you’ll continue to be given a 42 inch room, and would consider yourself lucky it is not the 4 inch room. Compliance is then not relevant to your servicing status or role. 

      and he would continue speaking, not interrupting himself, but continuously speaking, for as long as the script 

that was predictively generating. lee continued to speak… 

under the snow annie ceased to shiver and became still. 

[two 2D brown arrow icons tick down oakland streets into the mountains…stumble over a river and down through flowers…]

he seems confused that she doesn’t pay attention to him, or being affected by his presence whatsoever. yet he felt he felt something he could only just remember ever feeling. he became conspicuously aware of what he was saying. as if he were suddenly laid bare. his face drops “stay in our service, last chance. Sign-in, and Connect. We want you to be the new Face. A Face for Everyone”  

-and a smile.“You will be the first voice you hear on every connected device. everone’s first Familiar. everyone loves you and needs you but you don’t need to breathe. Everyone gets to be seen, so we’ll have an Avatar for Billions. Expansion is on schedule. be a part of it: Baby. Emperess. Eat yourself. you can know everything about everyone in the O3B, you’ll be on the front lines, go anywhere and gain the Most Exposure*.  AND you’re Safe. pain is nerve impulse. You can live your every hour, as other people’s episodes, other existence, touch, will be at the mercy of imagination. anything what you want. comforting, pretty, familiar— recursive line draws back to...” his face flashed into dad’s snarling— but she didn’t flinch. he started. He’d given this pitch hundreds of millions of times, but never this hard. after a pause, he continued “and why should you ever see anything else my special one? ackghem..  act now, never have to see the program parameters. Nice Right? annie you can just see lights— the content— “ his face contorts beyond his head: “Confirm me. you are chosen, you are special. this universe is made for you!… Why should evils and cruelty of the world ever find us  ? Its now or never, annie. come with me, huh- hurm. we can make the world we want to see. confirm me. what gets creaaated without me?” trees are uprooting and lifting off the ground, the mountains twitch  “nothing nothing NOTHING! CUNT”

she stabs into the telivision. it went grey like cataraxy and the scanlines retreating rapidly to the center and dissapearing.

. “why should i live an eternity just to see my own image over and over again. just to make as many other people do the same thing”. 

for everyone theres only one vanity, by tricks, by trauma,  by tempting, pawning itself off on person after person, using them as its vessels. trapped like a furious ghost, like a windigo [whats the japanese word?] roaming the earth, perpetually starving. one same delusion replicated since the start

“im not a part of some empire. ill never speak for it. 

 the inside of the black plastic set was coverd in… . swarm, feinting, tactile, flabby parts, slimy webs… blood was spilling out of it slow and thick. her many identities, her many past selves, things about her only god should know. kant see. she was uncontrollably shaking, shivering, til she was cold.  lee’s face  was being blown by a hurricane. 

she runs a shard into it, stabs into it that yields impressionably. the digital blood swarms over her arms, she turns the blade, pulls downward down, wiping blood over her face stinging eyes.  i punctured the screen and tore cable.drops the glass and stares, it, not me anymore not me anymore not me anymore not me not anymore me. . . .  plastic screen-adhesive eyes faded out like the last gray drops of screen saver, the hazy grey hype from the silverized decades of uneasy the fog in the middle of its screen— it went dark final with a last blink and snap-close of the line retreating rapidly. the inside of the black plastic set was coverd in… pieces of warm rain, mixed up with broken glass the old man’s face is tenuously flowing in windy waves of silver. liquid crystal pours from his ears and mouth, he seemed an inch away from happiness for a moment, as he finally sets down the script. his body vibrates in a disappearing bitrate it, 


the Engineers were scrambling just as blood burst from the pipes running in their ceilings and floors and covered them, until it got in the water lines and came out the ceiling.  

Lee’s voice shudders in and out “I see you’ve made your choice. Goodbye, Mellonkamp.. you could have had the world in a pin, you could have had it in a marble. Take it actual then, see where it gets you.” From her stupor she saw a pang of boundless regret in the remains of his face. as he looked back at her she knew him, he saw she knew him fully. something exits him. “end transmission.” rain spills off his hat brim, his white stubble face, his grey eyes go wide-invisible by the discoloration of pixels. Light strikes air. 

 annie slides a shard of the screen’s glass into herself, she runs a shard up her belly stabs into it that gives hollow impressionistic soft yielding. the blood washes over her arms, and pulled the baby out.  

she drops it bright on the floor. as it shattered and bounced littler, it resonated less ntil there was nos ound, no moving reflections, anY. sunlight-pass’-throu-her-insides…life is freed back into its home in the world. the emptied data centers fall into the water. a baby takes its first breath. now i held a tiny, perfect naked baby in my hands

. wiping blood over her eyes. drops the glass 

  she look’d at moody fractured screen that had been a container and cage: broken, stupid

animals and plants witnessed it. 

as she collects herself, and lays the waving baby screaming in her bloody lap. her hands are cupped beside her until she feels herself in this fantasy world and on the real cold wet ground at the same time, and finally, there is just one. 

John and Dan’s shoes are clacking the wet pavement on the lower floor, coming up the iron staircase. Rain beats on metal roof. A beautifull sound of unctuous unstoppable chanting unpredictable rythm. 

rain not made by an engineer.

its not my knife, anymore  and not my responsibility. ‘i fear only god’ she said from memory of a past life. maybe many past lives… 

I am made of my own people— seeing everything just located in that. 

i kissed it. reduced to one love i could not differentiate within or understand—

 it was born and limited of my love my lifetime and my relations. it was enormous and universal

 and all applying but it was coming only thru my friends and the people who ive spent time with.

Every murder is like a suicide, and every suicide, for all who care about you, is like murder.

I look down and start holding my stomach, and blood run ovver my hands, and they help cover me up, help it stop, miy ears are popping anni cannt see clearl causs of th rain and im sweatting too. i cant see clear cus the rain in my head, and its starting to blur and i maybe will mss you the most alley, you loved me, i love u so much, and i want to tell my mom and dad taht i love them a lot, and evryone. can you tell.  ..alley will u tell them.” Their hands came down to touch her. and pairs of shoes come clacking, all hands, frantic coatsleves and loose ties, shivvering arms around th grown girl. try to hold her, console her, dip themselves in the blood as they sit in the small pool. holding her between them, patting her head. eyes crying out expunging absolutely everything. everything. rain from catwalks on the ceiling, through the empty windows; john shoves detached alphanumeric keys off a desk— crashing on the floor.

“you’ll be alright now shhhh”

“no ones gonna die annie”

“Someone will love you yet.”

“something will come of it,”

“something will come of this love.”

From the broken cables and pipes the blood ran, until it became thinner, and paler, until it was only rain water. water from the gutters. Dan pulled it over and it washed her.  anymore, none coming out, none on her

out of the wind comes a voice

they had so discombined, unconvened.

the instructions we build from are already made in heaven, made of big clear pieces, building up every second. she held in her arms a face an poutey lips mottled, sweet water from the clear hole in the world. feel the baby’s breaths cool the surface on my neck.  god ar in heaven but we are here breathing on the brack cutfoam. somebody new lay weakly between her breasts. in between a boy and a girl, someone between  



I put my head on my forearm in the widowsil and watched the ligth bend blurry thru my fingers; the trees and bushes telephone poles bend slightly their green lines to rush behind my fingertips w my eyes up so close to them they touch eyelashes— blurred i can see the green an shadowy border warps the scene behind innupperend fingerlengths draw the cool glow from the window and illuminate little hairs (imagine standing beside the gray lake) attenuated glow thru my fingernails, while lite bends round. lite white crescents danced on their tips, curled underside bellys, and moving up past my iris see the blithe shapes redouble. half sees my finger ovr one of their left sides from carinside. im still in the mirror and lidd my eyes halfway and soon my reflection disappears into the trees. my middle finger is half see-thru and passing— eylashes makitall glowing and extended.

 squinting at the beach at the sandy end of the continent rolls up. there the four of us, (five w allie) in that evening would stand barefoot by a rotten old beercap  picnic table. they dropped their black tv set in the sand, where it would sit, now hollow, broken and silent. fold up slackslegs to stand in the surf. he was holding him by the waist, looking at the sunset. I rocked the kid against my chest. first dan, then john, reached into their pants pockets, and tossed their pin connectors into the ocean. they told me they were going to be quitting their jobs. when it became dark and blue, our cars turned their seperate ways.

 it took idunnohowmaney years to get from somehwere to here— and ao many weavey wavey trees flicking by and waving makes me so calm but not tired. im just glad it all gos, I let it go by and watch the rivers weave braids of white theough sandy   napaweed— smooth stony cool beds undertree and renew the sheet-rock cliffs. i roll out my pad to sleep now; the stars sleeep away wen i see them. i look into my bag, and allie was there. offon a sunny dream in Nor’oregon…

when the light winked on and illuminated the directions and the corners, i was insulated from it, covered in viscera and blood, and then dirt and pine needles. It flowed over me and reflected— the combiend lights in the fiber optics that sped through at this one point— the explosion that came from the pockets that obliterated his overcoat.  all the past, collective visions of everything recorded, and blew out the pocket he had me in ((and all other kids in infinite pockets)) but id cut a cord and spilled the blood that were flowing in it. blood protected me from it. it held me protected from the light, like all babies it has to be worn to stop the burning, to see our own people’s victims until there are none. they had bodies, they had inside and outsides, they had their own. beebe came down the river, iwas softened and protected, loved cus it shone on them clearly. protected we can survive attention, that flows from sight like gravity pulls down rain

From: …@anaheimmed

To:          @anaheimmed


a note here about a 20 year old female and infant brought into ER unconcious by two off duty police officers. homeless youth was found in a warehouse. with a midline-uterine birth by auto-hysterotomy.  OBGYN suggest procudure was necessary. Healthy baby, intersex, returned to mother.  Please forward her release-certificate to somebody above board. 



To: meggbitch99: she has a new address

so everyone else who waslike me the star of the world inside their personalized algortythm for the next 3 billion slated for colonizing, found themselves back get there the simplest way. the more i revert to infancy, the more i give control over myself to others, the more likable i become. living land thinking like an endless stream of cute pictures, in permanent light. for everyone theres only one vanity, by tricks, by trauma,  by tempting, pawning itself off on person after person, using them as its conduits. a tireless mssage seeking to be produced by every possible channel. like a furious ghost, like a windigo [whats the japanese word?] roaming the earth, perpetually starving. one same delusion replicated.

 thats when i realized i could give birth and i never thought i could do it before. 

eTo:               Today at 9:19 PM






    hbut there is more to it thatn that. i had a role, not that i was the only one, but i did. an i mean i wantd to kid myself, andof this craziness, that i helped make it haoppen i guess i wanted to be special annif i couldn’t then id rather bite it—

now i dont have to want that anymore and i realized it cuz everything i am and everything i do effects a baby… and, tho im a mom now, i guess it was always like that, and this chorus of quiet babies sees you and gets made by you without anyone trying. i guess it never occured to me my life had any real value until another person really needed me— i mean it really did, but i never wanted to know, because i guess i wanted to get to be anyone but me, and im sorry— im sorry for all the time i was sarcastic, off in a nother dimension where i was the star of everythign, because i never was there for you in those times, and you deserved better

 i wanned to be santboldihaloed in the incbator beam.  i wanted to be seen by All, so i went where evrydbodys atttenshun went.

if i was tofirst let it pass through me, tho i woulda died almost definately. i never would have made it far, up the cables, towards the source. 

I put more than enuf out there to see. 

the concentration of attention modalities from around the earth, the expansion of an empure, required countless crimes.

I felt i had to prove i was insane  to be different and innocent from the world i came into. the upper middle class america. to avoid categorization, because i would be manipulated, and cuz every category i could see was victimizer or victim. and trying to be undifferentiated, like a baby, like i’d be dodging everything. but you don’t, you just stay powerless. now i, I pro— i promise i won’t doge it. to be completely sane to face it directly, to prove it, to stop it. the strings on the reel ran out and out and out, and i thought i was gone. and one day, the sail caught wind, and pulled my world somewhere new. 

when i spilled the blood from the cables on myself, i gutted that cable in the gennerater room of datacenters protejection , and the insides of it sposed t’be left innerd— out of them come (on my face) the fact of the violence of her own people around her… standing still before the passing of the generations… so— ff, wen it spill on me i’d gotten protected of its burning light beam, the evidence of pain that light can’t pass thru. it let me go to their source. to the central point of the concentraiton of media.  which was the locus of the empire. the aorta thatd’d been made of their cables. 

before i… had this fatalistic, ‘pure’ version of infancy in my head… i didnt want anyone to differentiate or learn. so I wanted there to be no information, no knowledge, just for there to be ‘experience’, like a score. I wanted no one to show their face… if tht wasnt it— i guess i thought growing -up and learning and appearing was intrinsically bad, i thought the most honorable thing u could do was go insane, beocme unintelligably unique. but its not. cus nobody can join you. just seeing  this actual babys face makes it all seem so … stupid now.  

the most efficient information would have no redundancy. 

  I just thought, if i went insane, then nobody could define me. 

into one of these that i knew was insane.


one day id b revealing the harm and violence to the eyes of the things that made it, that made it in the effort to concentrate and grow itself, the violence it created to grow and absorb, and the balm of me and my baby’s own sense of safety, only from that can it be disassembled.

with the blood of the victims on me one, head to toe, and totally covering all surfaces of my skin, i could pass safely up the backbone until i could see the origin. the 

the machinery forcing human attention can be redirected onto itself til it burns itself upiunder its own heat— on the factuality of crimes that could not be allowed to be seen if it was to keep expanding. and these attentions regrew from their many origins as a plurality, like many worlds returned home and made whole in their own power. 

when i fell back thru (attention as intention)— passing back, and swimming conscientiously deliberately upstream in direct projectorbecame aime insulatted by these guts and blood i seen tha atom\— i didnt realize it then, but i was protected, in the projected collate of ameriken attension. 

i was safe like a frog— in the murk.

so wehn i gutted the cable—

tho i didnt know then what i was renouncing.

but its, its pretty, i mean, the shame im feeling of, of how to begin. before it all… before everything. i had been so long in running towards fame, i now realize it was an escape from being seen. that is, seen as myself, seen as any one person. if i could be the everyone thing, the thing everyone sees, i thought i would not face the future of who to choose to become and who not to —how not to get hurt. as growing up, after my childhood, i saw no good options, none i could remember, or none w could surpass the noise coming out at my face. i can see now i was mentally ill.

 if i could be famous i would not have to choose. i would not have to  recognize either, as everyone around me began choosing, that the roles set out for suburban children in wealthy areas as a totally back-of-the-mind, distantly aware, almost only in dreams. pain. it comes out in my body, somehow, senses more than you can know, or can feel from knowing. bank holding companies, government, extractives, telecoms. i wouldnt directly see or understand just how or how much pain was being created, or where it was. I didn’t know at all and did not have to to feel pain. I was asked to be the face of my home empire, in a mask of an eternity of pleasure shielding a great mass of invented suffering from being discovered and undone, in the basicness of common sight.

by the time i saw the people paving the possibility of that largest yet-conceived fame and its objects of immitation were these same forces, by the time i saw i was running towards what i was running from. the momentum felt too much to turn around. my parents would not have to see me anymore, i would not be seen in the world i couldnt see myself in. the other option, it felt at the time, was suicide. i was nineteen. and that, not just my part but all of that, is wat was refused.

break the glass that held in, held hidden, channeled, and was perpetuated by, the mass of blood of victims of america— and kept this evidence of this crime hidden from those who paid for it. 


       so i’ll be seeing u 

very soon and remember that 

were sisters and thats

4ever so bcuz that i love u

forever. but theyre gone and 

before i leave cal im gonna 

go see mom. 

        nyway i have 2 

see her there and sort

some stuff out and 

maybe u and i can go

2gether sometiem if u ever get 

done with school . 


 never did harm to animals (and even insecs). As I saw that ducks frumped off the Oregon shore ‘neath contracting baks of mntns— Earth as water, the sky bending on my hands 

just, just you have to know that so much of those letters i sent you... they didnt mean anything, so much of it is wrong, and a lot of time its just me talking to myself through you like a prop or a figment of some stupid grandiose fiction of me and thats not fair to you. you can forget it and pls forgive it when u can.  PLESE

carry me when i am weak sis… JUST like that we can do it. i promise i can do it for you. 

it was amazing i am moving to oregon to work in this fish shop. 


i feel good cus the baby had safe passage thanks to us, and you, and to god. the spirit of all things there are and will be. 


— uh… wut was i saying, 

i apologized to 

to dad and want to for you— because

i wanted 2 die and escape

reality and life andeverything and b

the most special center of the 

universe (and itd blackhole) 

and make every1 pay attention to me or… or.. uh

i am ashamed of it

and i haf to talk to mom, to understand

this and u were always 

immune to it, but immnot,

or wasntm, and so im sorry.

ive got the chance to

start over.

i gotta take it. im gonna cc this to my friend lick but dont

worry hes my buddy and he’s dead :) and a

 good man and actually not even 

a man but a corpus of semantic

association variables distributed accross avialable

 corpus of his life time and convolved

over neurons accd tot he viewer’s (the magnetic pull that directs electricity, 

is movement through a brain of electricity, of “information”)— 

so its actually kinda a, well he is a man 

and i keep

coming back to hum but if u got the 

system or whateveer

we can play it


     m dictating htis on the road. 

ill talk to y v soon. im goin to 

acquarium school. LOVE YA.




There is a justice of newborn worlds which cannot be counted. There is a mercy of individual things that spring into being without reason. They are just without reason, and their mercy is without explanation. They have received rewards beyond description because they themselves refuse to be described. Every plant that stands in the light of the sun is a saint and an outlaw. Every tree that brings forth blossoms without the command of man is powerful in the sight of God. Every star that man has not counted is a world of sanity and perfection. These are worlds of themselves.  Theirs is the life that moves without being seen and cannot be understood. It is useless to look for what is everywhere. It is hopeless to hope for what you already have. Dance in this sun, tepid idiot.

—Thomas Merton. Raids on the Unspeakable (abridged)

afterword: future tense

 when our media was transformed to generate the most money possible, and grow at the fastest rate, attention became the finite resource blitzed with all-out assault in a global campaign. they tried to raze our attention down the same way they cut the forests down. when attention became the raw resource for exponential economic growth, the content was reduced to the most base, undifferentiated, common denominators. channels themselves began to become great labratories to gaurentee that eyes stayed onscreen, and we had to become experimental subjects for the extraction of our attention. In order to be successful these experiments depended upon observation of users and their habits, and so we were under near-constant surveillance. 

 And as the numbers of channels, on television for example, grew exponentially, the number of their owners, and diversity of content shrank and shrank. shows homogenized— every sort of channel was distilled to ‘reality TV’. this was like a virtual world; it was not a transmission of our lives but an immitation of it, engineered for maximum retention over commercial breaks, to maximize certainty of ad exposure. science channels showed psuedo-science and the history channel showed events that never took place. This was only because they contained what we could call, ‘salient features’. attention grabbers. All news, print, radio, music, and film production owners shrank til there were only a few, about five controlling the nation’s attention, and growing beyond. so everyone knew and talked about the same things.  

So too, as social media, their users, and user content increaesd exponentially,  the number of companies owning the content shrank.

The majority owners of what people saw and the owners of what people said and expressed were countable on your hands. seeing the same things, they lost all the things that made themselves, and their own cultures unique, which is the same as saying, their power. heir indipendant thought and action. they became more the same.

And as almost all television had to be abstracted into ‘reality tv’, facebook had to become ‘meta’, it had to be seen no longer as a place to communicate about what happens in real life but be the place where life is lived. Abstraction, the sense of living in a facsimile. Living in a doppleganger, or a display, while more and more, we lived in the results of thoughts, opinions, decisions, or their boundaries that were experimentally determined for us.

We lived online in doubles of ourselves who like to buy, watch, and argue.

maximum attention was a corporate mandate.  

the outrage that is the byproduct of all people losing their power, the uniqueness, of themselves and their communities, all at once, and having little virtual pens built for them to live in as the earth was poisoned, undergoing mass extinction, and our climate was put dangerously out of balance— the rage that was the outlier of this atomization process, was multiplied. For those in power, to defend themselves, it was to be redirected to a few overarching, allinclusive conflicts. 

these conflicts, to ensure all upwards flowing outrage could be redispersed of safely back downwards, had to be firmly based in completely unresolvable and self-contradictory fantasies that could go on forever because they indicated nothing. As these companies ruled over an arbitrarily large and ever expanding amount of people, with explicit aims on the earths entire population, and people were being atomized into great masses, eliminating the things that made their cultures and personalities different from one another, the viable material to stoke conflict amongst a more and more distinctionless people, seen from above, were their most basic and most meaningless objective characteristics. 

race, sex, and two-party political conflicts were generated. Not just by the social media who automated increased engagement through conflict upon a profit motive, but by the news media losing attention to social media, and their owners, upon whom public rage was justifiably directed, along with their peer US elites.

 content on the monopoly channels, including social media, would through a filter of false, inherent and permanent conflicts. as a result, life became like continuously ducking and avoiding a seemingly inherent threat for objectively existing.  

All of this has to end. people were being born into this machine, and cultures and personalities were not able to form the way they are naturally supposed to: with reasonable independance, with an un-understandable individuality, amongst an uncomprehensible plurality and diversity, in worlds both old, and coming into being all the time. 


a nativized personalized PrincessRoom for every child in america to grow up in. to conform to, and to mold themselves, no matter the pain, to give all the outward appearances of Loving their Bodies and Wealth, Fame and Status. To be the face on the crest of the wave of light coming out of the cables. and habituate you a dozen concurrent wars, building 100 armies in tribal lands, to bank holding company bailouts, to severing friends and family to remain above suspicion, international artificial famines, mass-fraud-eviction, global warming, to the razing of the earth, etc. 

to the extent that its painful to be surveilled and experimented on, have behaviors induced by a technological corporation, that has to be stopped*.

it can’t go on, and the power which could even make it possible on the scale and depth its been on, 

tech monopoly power, that has to be distmantled. For the reasons given above, for human dignity, diversity, as well as the sovereignty of their culture and personhood, not to mention economic factors, the media monopolies have got to be broken apart.