Repository for Edited Material
SANDY
I never meant to rob myself of a tune,
Attuned as I was to its multi-threaded bloom.
SANDY describes HONORIA
She’s looking for a new adventure, Abandoning her life of censure.
HONORIA
What’s next in hypertext must be slow and sweet,
untrammeled by hang-ups, by nerdiness unvexed.
SANDY
Who do I think I am,
wandering the by-ways and back alleys of the information highways
singing high notes of my life’s theme before there were computers, and
pixels on a screen.
a system of visual knowledge cultural purpose: authorized sovreign subjectivity
our assembled forms and multiple selves between two towers of promise
and danger lies our path, lit by the dawn of the virtual age
And yet, these shifting colors of doubt leave me well alone.
Regression becomes me not despite my logic I am bothered,
hot the cooling rains of reason are long to come entangled in memories
of the brilliant sun.
Perhaps there are times when illusion is right,
when photographs smile and hold you tight.
When I was a boy, I would sometimes play tag with the clouds in the sky,
stick them in a bag when I caught them,
and bring them out at night to keep me company and kiss them, hold them tight.
Lovers, it seems, are like those clouds.
They vaporize just when you want them to look into your eyes.
So long as cyborgs breathe, or lenses see
So long lives code, and this gives life to thee
Not a human, not a clone
The cyborg sits, brooding, alone.
HONORIA
There’s a gondola that’s leaving soon for the Rialto.
Do you what you want to do at the fleshmeet,
a little basso, a little alto?
St. Mark’s is virtually here,
with virtual pigeons, and gondolier.
Our human questions, what can they mean?
A cyberspace passion or clear the screen?
SANDY
These lonely boys with their obsolete keyboards and outmoded ideas of
what makes us broads really tick, tick me off something fierce.
As if reality were something they could pierce with a virtual arrow!
As if fingertips typing plastic all day could touch my lips!
SANDY CLONE?
surface-to-depth technosphere
architecture on the haptic horizon
A memory/revisitation of The ORACLE interprets the cyborgic true love as false.
ORACLE voice or presence All oily winds the mournful cyborg’s drone Oppressed
with dart of tender Eros’ clone. This thou perceiv’st, which makes thy
love more strong To love that well which thou replace ere long.
Come, succumb to the taste of truth
sharp, spicy, sweet aged vermouth
a lover’s flavor of candle-lit nights
on a breeze to savor, we soar like kites.
Bring me the grit – true love has a raspy cough
And your pristine screen? Save it! I’d rather !! ## and click off.
CYBORG to ALL
It’s obvious, you see?
Plus, Plus, a touching resolution
to mortality’s paradox is .Rez’s solution.
Without human dress to hide his mess
his bones, his flesh and skin consumed.
Human exhumed!
Cries muted by the fire’s roar–
thumbprint, retina, diamond, pearl
common accidents, snowflakes melting, .Rez’s hurl.
Regardless, now
burning with passion,
the skinny mantle he once wore.
ALL HUMANS to CYBORG
in cold elegance you stand alone
banalities of physicalities overthrown
something twists unseeing
inside your raging misperceiving
of self-sacrificial rote
you dictated, translated the wrong note.
Imagination skewed all bounds
constraining constant rebirth transcendent of earth
We revel in the power of an infinite mother
for no other dare sketch the goddess at play in quick stroked daubs
painting our online islands of mixed metaphors and sobs.
Plastic now melted, remainder to ash.
All memory lost with disks, RAM, and cache.
Glowing pain on my screen waits forever
continuing on electronic paths I will never
revel in conscious touch of strong hands
or renew the promise of golden bands
semiopaque
Evolution is less mediated by the conquest of one varient by another than
by their ability to adapt together
The total pattern of change is somewhat like a change in metaphor from
reality as a machine toward reality as a conscious organism
voice tone pitch inflection, speaking-being in time
pluralistic and plastic character of reality
product of complicated discursive practices (sandy)
error-prone epistemological fallibilism (sandy)
reflexive elaboration of the event (sandy)
: the making is remaking.
constructed for us as if they were actually there
cyberspace enhanced replicated dreams
empty shells of our mirrored selves
Announce your stakes
Whatever happened to good old causality?
There is no pain, no death, no sorrow
Anguish, horror, today or tomorrow
And on first thought, yes, this seems true
But with further reflection a clearer view.