Thursday, 9 April 2015
9/30! Going Cronenberg! Going Scott!
Give me an Existenz afterlife, so I can plug, unplug eternally.
That squirming, spirting tentacle, all ooze and grit and
eventually just wanting to be put down. Of course we want
masks here, of course.
I saw a TV show where people got their make up done,
piercings shrined and implants to look like cats, or dragons,
or the devil. They called it extreme, I call it trying too hard when
all anyone needs to do for assassination
is program a GPS in question into oncoming traffic
like that episode of The Office
we all laughed at for being
Give me a car crash orgasm, so I can sync with explosions.
Somewhere between the caveman and the
robot porn, there is
a caveman jerking off to robot porn.
I'm no expert on these things,
vast expanse of flesh,
and plugs, and re-routes.
Laying on my collapsed futon
late night, falling asleep to sirens,
waking up to jackhammers,
reading a friends panicked e-mail about
I'm too entrenched in Blade Runner's LA; it was a lot of things,
but never boring.