Honoria in Ciberspazio

Scene 2: the Lava Lamp Pulsates

In a convergence of the humans’ songs the screen is raised revealing a large lava lamp emitting a deep purple glow.

Come to me
come to me
travel sacred wired lines

speak to me
speak to me
and bless me with your synaptic signs

come to me
come to me
come to me
read the network of our minds

your heart’s a million miles away
I can feel your soul, has much to say
while gaia cries beneath our feet
i feel your presence in cool electric heat
i touch your soul and paralyze
reflections of our dreams fill the misty skies
and when you send to me the essence of your inside
we meet in sacred space, our atoms do collide.

come to me
come to me
travel sacred wired signs

speak to me
speak to me
and caress me with your keystroked lines
come to me
come to me
and host my everlasting hope

Deconstructing work under construction,
Reconstructing words over constructed.
Infrastructure is the overstructure
As the Uberstruktur is to the UberICH.

Where is that rare one who personifies the magical shift?
Where is the s/he whose heart heals each rift?

Each day I send forth my most secret aches
each night I read my mail as my heart quakes

No lovers, you’re all alone, no one’s out there…
There is only you and the machine.

I cast my words upon the net
In hopes their meaning will beget…
From the war machine of genocide,
Love can happen when systems collide.


Pensando navigando

Che la mia identita’ poteva essere multipla lo sapevo gia’;
questo lo provai nell’onirico spazio e allo stesso modo nella realta’.
Allora mi chiedo cosa stia accadendo nel ciberspazio:
e’ davvero come un’immensa, bella corte
dove la nostra personalita’ non occupa poi cosi’ tanto spazio,
anzi direi che ‘l’io non e’, rispetto agli altri, molto forte;
almen per adesso questo riscontro
essendo aperte nelle Reti quasi tutte le porte.

Ecco perche’ mi auguro un felice incontro
tra filosofi, politici, artisti, sociologi e gli altri tutti
in maniera tale che non si crei un grande scontro;
gia’ nel reale mondo son troppi i lutti,
aumentando ogni di’ l’angoscia dell’uman viaggio.

Dunque avverto i Potenti tutti
che di qualsiasi guerra sempre forniscon foraggio:
“siate meno egoisti, lasciateci viver bene”,
altrimenti noi comuni virtuali vi farem un duro

Pensando Navigando
aria by Claudio Parrini
Translation from the Italian text by Professor McCraw:Thinking, navigating (making my way)
That my identity can be made multiple (multiplied) I already know;
I have tried (sought) this in oneiric space and at the same stime in reality.
Now I ask myself (wonder) what is happening in cyberspace:
is it really like an immense, beautiful court
where our personalitity (personhood, self) doesn’t then fill so much space,
rather I would say that I am not, compared to others, in this way very strong;
at least for now this comparison
having opened in the Network almost all the doors.
And this is why I wish for myself a happy meeting
between philosophers, political leaders, artists, social thinkers and all the others
in such a way that no one will beleive it a great clash:
already in the real world there is too much mourning;
making greater every day the pain and anxiety of the human journey.
Therefore I give notice to all the Great Powers
that for every war always they furnish the fodder (cannon fodder):
“Be less absorbed in yourselves, let us live well,”
otherwise we virtual communities will launch sabotage against you.

No lovers you’re all alone…
There is no one to return your love…
There’s only you and the machine!

During the following chorus the lava lamp pulsates ominously. Inside the lamp globs of liquid rise and change shape occasionally revealing actions of a multi-limbed humanoid within. Green lights flicker in the interior of the lamp. The messages that the humans circulate are being collected in the central processing unit of the lava lamp.Contained Dance: “Slaves of the Lava Lamp”

From inside the lamp


Enter, interaction in digital cache,
Double you, double you, double you slash slash slash
org-ascii- DOS
dot dot dot slash
org-ascii-typing one another we ask,
face to new face in-outer net cast.

A chorus of voices from the lamp begins to respond to each human’s song.
The audience is wondering who is behind the clones… the ORACLE? the cyborg? are they mirrors of the humans or are they some other entity?

BOOKISH’s Lament Aria

I design a Venetian gondola with code on the Moo,
And I wonder what eyes are there to receive its spectacular view,
Will it be that mind so wise, so vast, so informed?
My equal, my soulmate, who shares my sense of scorn?
For one thing my years upon years of study have taught
pleasures of mind, body and soul have no price, cannot be bought
for the creators of modern capital and material wealth
could never co-opt minds’ imagination despite their
greed and stealth.

BOOKISH’S CLONE calls from inside the lamp
bookish, I have seen it before
and so have you,
it stands at your door
and suggests you don’t move.
It invites itself in
and finds a place to sit,
It removes its coat
and all, bit by bit.
You don’t know what to say
so you don’t say a word.
And it sings your song
like a sweet little bird.

ORACLE (randomly generated responses)
No one’s out here…
No one at home …
There is no one to return your love…

For what are we in virtu’l cyberspace?
From where springs our desire to interface?
What connects lips with RS232?
And how can thee with binary us woo?
Do we dare handshake your serial line?
Or make journey to protocols shrine,
And trust in the reliability,
Of fabled standard TCP/IP?
In our twisted circuit of hearts desire,
The music calls from this digital choir.

SANDY’S CLONE calls from inside the lamp
At first a binary polyphony,
Gives way to parallel symphony.
Where multi-processing melodies form,
we’re born to data to the CPU . . .

to what end send email?
this whole broad net can scarce compete
with a touch firm and female
these online flings, they are ok
for a little change of pace
but it’s a hard to make much hay
with a girl from cyberspace
of course, there’s little mess
and very little risk
when you uncompress
and i insert my disk

turn it on
and turn me on
dance in electronic air
dance with me ’till the morning calls
and swallows my despair.

.REZ’S CLONE calls from inside the lamp
turn it on
and turn me on
surf in a electronic sea
surf with me and you will see
how much i really care.

cut and paste it,
can you taste it?
the signal in the air?

Woe woe to you, a thousand times woe…
Barbed wire of the future cries…
You, the machine…

ALL CLONES call from inside the lamp

Begat, endowed, by hope and fear,
the thought we thought had brought us here
wraps, entraps, and keeps the same
each person with a single name.

My hands are so worn
in this heart I am torn.
Night airs, automated sonnet soothes
our loneliness it proves or removes?

Joyous be the cursor’s beat
when we long for touch,
and in some cyber-meet
we find memories to clutch

ORACLE starts his confusing comments. He is interrupted by the opening of the lava lamp. This is the ORACLE’s last stand.

The ORACLE is a humanoid in costume. As s/he looses coherent ability the costume s/he is built with fragments and becomes hollow shells of sound and lights. This is the Oracle’s last stand, the audience remains confused about the
Oracle/Clone connection.

You are, sister of mine, gone all horny
from an internet interlaced with the porny
concoctions of chipped-out brains and grid-dipped
voltages where some of the connections slipped.

Multimedia interlude depicts lava lamp contents shifting from globs of
text to human forms.