Scene 5: The Cyborgs’ Critique
HUMANS
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.
HONORIA to CYBORG
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.
CYBORG
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
.REZ
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
.REZ’S CLONE
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
.REZ
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.
SANDY
Our human questions what can they mean?
Do we fear virtual sovereign subjectivity?
The war of desire and technology
is won by transformative symbioticry.
SANDY’S CLONE
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).
SANDY
Our human human question where will they lead?
To inevitable resolution of human and machine.
BOOKISH
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
BOOKISH’S CLONE
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
BOOKISH
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
BOOKISH’S CLONE
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!
HONORIA to ALL
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
HONORIA to CYBORG
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.
ALL HUMANS
We, the denizens of this loving net
will prove in point our freedom yet.
CYBORG
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?