Honoria in Ciberspazio

Scene 5: The Cyborgs’ Critique

With the CYBORGs Puking Blob aria, the CYBORG communicates that the humans have gone too far by believing the clones are perfection. HONORIA responds that the humans have not put all their faith into the clones and are hoping to evolve with the clones instead. SANDY, BOOKISH and .REZ then express their desires to transform with their clones. Inthe end Honoria suggests the fleshmeet in order to prove to the CYBORG human possibilities.


Cyberspace chorus

Cyberspace will not erase the feelings that I would enmesh

Within this place that does debase the reelings of my awkward flesh.

Essential nature becomes obscure by reconfigured personae du jour

Multi-national capitalized magnetic wired allure.

CYBORG to HUMANS Puking Blob Aria

Stop your whining, your pathetic wail.

Now you’re sweating. You stink and you’re frail.

You’re overweight! You’re underweight!

They are impossible to please. You pathetic, puking blobs,

Get off of your knees!

You’re wasting away, your bodies are drying,

You’re graying, shriveling, rotting, dying.

Death is what you’re born to do, a certainty,

A race to ashes, your mortality you rue.

But via phosphorous green, you live and dream,

While pixilated you soar beyond the screen.

Imagination is your vessel, deceived, your body is not. (Pointing to one of the humans)

You’re dying, you’re dying, you mortal sot.

You are nothing but a brain in a vat,

Your tub has holes, your insides will splat.

You’re fingers are crooked,

Your breath is bad.

Need I continue? You’ve been had.

Listen not to those who spew

Lies and liquids–mortal they are, too.

Embrace the cyborg!

With mouse or keyboard, hand or hook.

Life is everlasting and back do not look.

Download into the wires, the whir and the spin,

Your thoughts, your dreams, your conceits and sin.

The aesthetic of the prosthetic is your biological escape.

Beautiful and immortal, you’re not cheating Fate.


Your words are true to a point and then caught.

in your blinding ego, contemptuous thought.

Our human capacity to love will never be inferior

to mere boasting, posturing, unyielding exterior.

Astonishment and hurt are mine to nurture,

red hot needle points dig and suture.

No more! Gather your black hole and depart,

or stay but speak no more your words of a blind mole

digging beneath human skin to expose our soul.

Under your discomforting, calculating eyes

we can conjure no larger, weaker disguise

with which to shield our infamous choices of love without it,

we live estranged but sane.


Clones and bones reflections to hew

Skeletal humor no mirror will do.

Skulls on tripods dreaming perfection misperceived,

No clones of folly can couple with the conceived.

Camera obscura, erotica triviata

Victims of Onan, homo animata


My knees, they tremble, my lips can hardly mumble,

My dreams crumble like silence, like fire,

like an empty choir, a broken vow.

Is my quest a hopeless one are there none with love’s balm

Should I resolve to be a monk serene, untroubled calm?

But I still long for love and the feelings of

Once again seeing the thoughts of a human being


These digital eyes fail to compromise

I fall inside but fail to hide

email me now before you forget how

to communicate at such a rate as to be understood


Slender fingers beckon hither

teardrops fall and dry and wither

dance a slow waltz under blue moons, cast and tumble nano runes,

past portends future entwined come search with me, desire, find.

Our human questions what can they mean?
Do we fear virtual sovereign subjectivity?

The war of desire and technology

is won by transformative symbioticry.


Complex cause-effect interaction

ease the emergence of new communication prosthetics.

Chimeric promise of paperless essays

invoke their simple existence by the disruption of classificatory schemata

calling traditional identity formation

into question (hundreds of years of societal evolution

and complex dialogue with technology gender as an ‘othering’ machine).


Our human human question where will they lead?

To inevitable resolution of human and machine.


Is there a virtual goddess clad in Scarlet

a saint, a sorceress, my loving harlot?

Not confined to man’s world of samsaric delusion

able to transcend human misery and confusion


I may not be made of blood, flesh, and bone,

But I can be programmed to be all your own.

I don’t need human hips to remain engaged.

Plug into my wires, input, code my page.

As I take you to a place so vast to play

Oh, on my tongue, pray stay

my dear, bello doce lay


Though your spectre met me first

for the salt of your flesh-meat did I thirst

my legs long to wrap around your cybergoo

drink, dare I, must I, lest I rue


Drink you will for my fountain flows

Drawing from a spring that never slows.

Each trickle and sprinkle and dribble and droplet

I promise to you, your loving Scarlet harlot!


There are others in the net, I know

who feel arrows of cupid’s escrow

I propose a meeting and melding

communal fleshmeet of heat, sparks, welding


Before you make judgment on our follies

of following some sparking ion, come join our fleshmeet in physique

formed to please and prove your mystique.


We, the denizens of this loving net

will prove in point our freedom yet.


A dare it spews?

No, a challenge, no less.

To grace it’s fleshmeet, some sweaty mess you adore.

Oh, I will be there, prefabricated to please to screen your petit mort?