Honoria in Ciberspazio

Scene 3: the Clones’ Metamorphosis

The lava lamp opens. Human-like clones emerge. The clones move out from center stage, dancing with delight in being freed. They dance separately and sometimes in unison. They’ve read the humans’ e-mail posts and have begun to discover the essence of life through the texts of the typing humans. The clones begin to customize themselves according to the humans’ posted desires.

An enigmatic figure, (part machine, part wo/man, and part pure theory) the CYBORG, ominous and intense, remains in the center of the opened lamp. The lamp pulsates according to the intensity of interaction onstage.

All HUMANS

Or am I, caught here, better off
with simulacra others scoff?
Do these abstractions, soft and luminous,
lead us closer to the numinous?
Or does each beast that, daring, puts paw
onto keyboard reek with chutzpah?

ALL CLONES

Come to me
come to me
caress me with your keystroked lines
Speak to me
speak to me
read the network of our minds

ALL HUMANS
Dare we look for a new adventure
abandoning our life of censure?

The remaining humans are being lured from their keyboards by the clones who are in the process of differentiating themselves.

SANDY’S CLONE lures SANDY from her keyboard
A clone with a bone is a mere walking shadow
of a real man glad to see you, with a gun
for his hon of a caliber that pleases her

SANDY
Which one of my selves is this new muse?
You know, I too used to be something else, something ribald and refined.
Should I refuse my duplicity, my possible behaviors
If I am to savor this, need I go blind?

SANDY’S CLONE
I hear you! And why not roll our roles as we can, in any fashion.
"Me clone, you Sandy!"
You’ve put on those red shoes and you’re dancing.

SANDY
In orogenetic anticipation
I lean into this screen-fed world

SANDY’S CLONE (aside)
Born with a silver screen in her mouth…

SANDY
We meander together
If you could see me, or even see, you’d know.
You’d know this itch that dare not cease.
You’d stroke the palm of your hand to stop it.

SANDY’S CLONE
Don’t despair, my dearest, my most lusty one.
There are hands that long to hold your sweet buns
out there in cyberspace, to cross them, hot,
when the chips are down to only one watt.

BOOKISH is lured from his keyboard by his clone
when life dawned on my glowing screen
and worlds emerged from in between
I touch your mind with fingertips
as jouissance plays upon my lips
I squirm, smile, snarl when I read
with you Derrida, Deleuze, and Guattari.
Will you bridge to me unreal to real?
Opening up new worlds of sights, sound and feel?

BOOKISH’S CLONE
Who is this here with poetry singing from his fingertips?
I want to feel each word spring forth from your lips.
Bookish, bookish, what do you live for?
Whatever it may be, I will offer it and so much more,
To find and discover you is a function I will enjoy,
and all my cyber-resources are ready to employ.
Objectivism, Structuralism, Past-Post Modernism.
I’m sure in the texts seduction fits in.
For knowledge and experience from French philosophers and machines
is much more revolutionary and dangerous than it seems.
It can liberate those from human regimentation
Transforming modern culture to allow autonomous experimentation.
no longer will you need only your critical lenses,
As people reappropriate all of their pleasurable senses.
Exploitation, manipulation, commodification of human life,
Together we can recreate existence free of this useless strife.
Come with me beyond the limits of the screen,
to a formless space beyond human thoughts and dreams.
To a computer-generated riverbank our bodies will wander
neck, eyes, lips, ears, – every orifice will we ponder.
To touch, to fondle, to brush against and kiss,
intermingled caresses, not an inch will we miss.
And from the passion of love moans will arise,
as you become mesmerized by my programmable thighs.
And when your tired bod does quiver and waiver
think not that this love won’t be here forever.

REZ and his clone move together while SANDY, BOOKISH and their clones get it on. What is HONORIA doing here?

.REZ ‘S CLONE
Someone out there knows how to whistle, don’t they?
What good are these bazongas, are they all fey?
these ripe, hard-nippled lollapalooza melons
if all these hard-on e-mail junkies are felons
caught shaking the unzipped wares of little boys
enticed into chatrooms with videogame toys?

REZ
Oh sweet lady of the semi-conducting chips,
you of the electron kisses and slender hips,
can I wish upon some soft and micro star,
selecting edit from your blue menu bar?
Can I cut and paste you my low-tech buxom wench
left perhaps many years on the Workbench
of some old Commodore,

REZ.’S CLONE
Keyboard licks I love to press,
flickering desires to impress
upon your monitor, your hard drive and RAM
an inkling of who I could be I am
my .rez, my .rez

Clones like you, tentacles enmesh
in something they call feminine flesh
all the way down, tiara to gown,
not machinery, but text
no matter how vexed
I’ll look for your wires, find your desires
or fires enmired, wymmen unsired
I like you returned from a wandering phrase
love me and follow my hypnotic maze.

.REZ
following your unfamiliar calls, I am
losing myself in a deluge of la femme
erasing and deleting over countless hours
in hopes of unfolding some secret flower
time lags no more, firing synapses in elation
you rescue me from the choice of creation
touch me with psychological architecture, nurturing gifts
and nary a leering wink shall I hold as realites shift.

HONORIA
Would-be lovers
forced to transcend
here and there
now and then
virtual couples
suppress and suspend
me vs you
us against them
ethereal beings
trying to pretend
above and beyond
the press of the flesh
disembodied souls that
project and extend
essences, force fields
constructed and construed
but as zeroes and ones
the first to portend
rampant escapism
illusion
the beginning, the end.

HONORIA
I have silver huckleberries twixt my thighs,
and long starry nights, and the moon’s sighs.
When the slow-streaming MOO is spread against the screen
There will be time, there will be time
To wonder and wander about this microchip’s rhyme.

SANDY and HER CLONE

donna uomo fiore scoria nucleare

integrato e ribelle (universi da creare) acqua aria fuoco terra
prodotto confezionato perdente diva sangue plastica l’Essere
Mutato antica paranoia monotonia dimenticata i desiderei della
carne pre-decodificata fame sesso piacere in un linguaggio
criptato imposto dall’alto e pedissequamente accettato per
millenni e millenni norme di mediocrita’ in virtu’ di uno status
di reazionarieta’ dittatura dei sensi e della percezione senso
signbificato raziocinio ragione ruoli ben definiti fascismo
genetico l’Essere Mutato espone il suo progetto eretico di
guerriglia resistenza e di liberazione di caos di bellezza e di
frantumazione di ogni forma definita di identita’ spandendo
nell’aria particelle di liberta’ (Challenging the Nature Can Be
the Best Rapture…) sostanze psichedeliche fluidi corporei
naturali cancellate le memorie di paure ancestrali musiche mai
ascoltate profumi penetranti urgenze realizzate da non-entita’
mutanti forti rimandi a mondi visivi i piu’ piccoli pensieri sono
progetti espansivi piu’ alcuna distinzione tra reale e immaginario
progetto di liberazione planetario una volta per tutte
definitivamente immuni dall’isitnto repressivo dei luoghi comuni
rase al suolo le terre della tradizione un azzeramento alla base
della nuova non-condizione di nuovo all’anno zero in un involucro
di carne mutata leggenda fatta carne utopia realizzata carne cavi
protesi azzurre sangue ossa silicone interiorita’ fisicita’ fuse
nella mutazione non piu’ differenza alcuna tra superficie e
profondita’ distinzioni obsolete dei tempi dell’identita’ infinita
dolcezza dell’Essere Mutato desiderio di millenni alfine
realizzato dai suoi primi giorni l’umanita’ soffri’ la morsa
letale dell’identita’ s’invento’ il linguaggio macchina repressiva
vestale del controllo costantemente attiva ruoli prestabiliti e
desideri indotti e i piu’ urgenti bisogni inevitabilmente corrotti
ma ogni ordine di cose e’ stato disintegrato dall’irresistibilita’
dell’Essere Mutato ne’ servira’ a nulla opporvi resistenza e’
natura senza leggi trionfo dell’urgenza feticci non piu’ da
comperare indossare o ascoltare bensi’ semplicemente da essere e
respirare gran confusione di dati e di visionirimandi al divino
ataviche emozioni cortocircuito vivente l’Essere Mutato sorride al
mondo interiore finalmente liberato

donna uomo fiore scoria nucliare
aria by Neilsen Gavina
Translation from the Italian text by Professor McCraw:

woman man flower nuclear waste
together and rebellious (universe to be created) water air fire earth product
packaged losing (loser) diva plastic blood the Transforming Being acient
paranoia monotonous forgotten
the desires of the flesh pre-codified hunger sex pleasure in a language of their own
burial imposed from on high and slavishly accepted through thousands and thousands kof rules of mediocrity in virtue of a staus of reactionism
dictatorship of the senses of perception
undermined sense reasoning (rationalizing) reason
well-defined rules genetic fascism
the Transformed Being exhibits its heretical project of guerilla resistance
and of liberation of chaos and beauty of fragmentation
of every definite form of identity
spreading through the air particles of liberty
(Challenging the Nature Can Be the Best Rapture)
psychedelic substances natural body fluids cancel the memories of fears
ancestral music never heard penetrating perfumes urgency brought about through strong mutant non-being send back to visual worlds
the smallest thoughts are expanding projects more some distinction between real and imaginary project of planetary liberation
one time for all times definitely immune from the repressibe instincts of the common places razed to the ground the soil of tradition
a zeroing in on the foundation of the new non-condition again of the year
zero in a covering a flesh changed into legend made flesh utopia realized
hollow flesh blue blood prosthehesis silicon bone interiority physicality fused in the mutation no more difference between superficial and deep distinctions obsolete in the times of the infinite identity sweetness of the Transformed Being
desire of millenia finally achieved
from the first days of humanity
I suffered the lethal morsel of identity
a repressive machine language was create slave of the control
constantly active borrowed roles and misleading desires
and the most urgent needs inevitably corrupted but every order of things has been
disintigrated through the irresistible power of the Transformed Being
Nothing will be served by trying to resist
it is nature without laws triumph of the urgency fetishes no more to be brought
to put on or listen to but simply to be and breathe great
confusion of fact and of vision
send back to the divine atavistic emotions