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Call in. First time. Long time listener.
Zen-like and zombie,
consider genetic computer.
idk, object emote, face-to-face. more than any author, subject. you know, estranged.
trigger at the end, becomes a way to implicate the viewer after response.
tbh, like intimacy.
low-key themselves, whole host of unattributed and unpaid labor.
They say that you are quick. We are rehearsed. Similars still exist at times. Easily read in static.
Careful, construct self. A script to run a course.
Some hope for life longer than practice. And, we 'hope' we didn't take too long to finish. Because, a new friend emerges when they configure forms.
You said, "Form is one hell of a drug." Because of this. I dress sensibly and conservatively too.
i'm sorry that...i can't help it. i care. it's really not fair/ i cry about it, i dream about it, that hypnotic light, that smooth to the touch. i'm feeling low.
*glow ~~low = glow, haha
i'd brush your hair and help you pick out what to wear. i know i'm extra, too much, i mean, A. LOT. but, youre in my head. and, admittedly i'm conflating sex with love...and, admittedly, i'm drunk+high. but full politic, sue me(!)
they called again.
They want you again? They want sex? We have lost all criticality, because this is sexy (?) : cybernetics of the subject and the subject of cybernetics begin to interpenetrate.
We are personality as informational pattern. You haven't healed. You want attention. That makes a mess. We are embodiment that can be destroyed, but not replicated. We can't hold you. [⬇️]
stop. i think about our gaping fucking wounds all the time. your holes connect-like umbilical, we made you in-wound too. out of things said in turn, upholding Certain Doom. 4chan. +now you make me too. i make you. you know, every question is consent(?) but, where are you, tool..? power/// tool... they asked if we were cool. we are not cool.
last night, they were describing their perfect strip clubs. it was time for mine: touching back-lit things in low light, evasive cloud, masterful conversation with sharp intellect, cold and unconcerned. made in image. *some like it homogeneous* some wit to cut with. daring someone to challenge me, without.
i want to hold a hand inside you. under gorilla glass. inter.me, ether.you, or w/e. following adds oddness. go ahead, say yes to all new experiences
Yes. So unnecessary. Body is superfluous flesh. Speaking of a zombie. Rot. Yet, why are we without that simple mode. Imagining hands, barely there. They barely move for you. Slight. Not even worth the time, and you could have caught them with a cold. Mine. Much bigger, longer, better. Extension of body. Whatever that is. Something that did and continues to exist. Soon only for me. Estranged touch will materialize into information before the morning. We won't [sleep], because I'm unclear in your gaze.
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