&nbsp;


&nbsp;


&nbsp;


let&rsquo;s say u came into being like a text on a phone.

ur name, a flashy alert popping in or out of screen.

u, the digital. ur code, a bunch of numbers. the numbers

off the mouth like something dirty or censored.

what&rsquo;s autonomous about being seen. u should kno.


every man these hands touch becomes an archive.


&nbsp;


&nbsp;


&nbsp;


let&rsquo;s say u be &lsquo;til u been, ur body bent over on its

neck. the phone&rsquo;s light hovers like a geist&mdash;a polter

suspended, disguising its shadow as another body

in the bed. erotic, me think. me think &lsquo;til me not.

stubborn, u. still glaring at the phone &lsquo;til time broke

or a man subdues u w/ a pocketful of emojis. digital

schism, u. a holograph, its projection.


don&rsquo;t u remember.


&nbsp;


&nbsp;


&nbsp;


&nbsp;


let&rsquo;s say the phone dank in night mode. u linger

around on screen &lsquo;til a past iteration of u disseminates

into a blur. is this what&rsquo;s been leaky. the grind&rsquo;s

grind; all code for &lsquo;fuck me.&rsquo; until me a pile

of numbers that replicate urs.


until me take ur form.


from night mode

&nbsp;


&nbsp;


&nbsp;


&nbsp;


We head back to his after it got too late to be drinking at the.


(Sorry, it&rsquo;s a&mdash;) Mess. There&rsquo;s a splash of water on the floor of his bedroom, maybe a rain spot or a spill. A pink dot pokes out from the middle, the size and shape of an egg yolk.


I glance at the ceiling, but no sign of leakage. He remains quiet as he takes me to the bed. As we walk past the strange water and the pink spot, the glitchy sound from the bar returns in my ear, like switching on the radio to a broken station. As a kid, I&rsquo;d always let the static play to fill up the empty space.


But now. On the edge of his. I press my fingertips to my ears to try to stifle the sound, but I know there&rsquo;s no luck since the glitch seems to be coming from inside. Vibrating out.


As if to keep me present in this moment, he performs an action: the slippage of his body over mine. His hands to uncover, I undress. The song in my ear becomes an orchestra booming. A subsequent terraforming. I trace the salt particles on his skin like stars before sleep.


Inside, another kind of pink yolk is brewing.


Love is dew, you.


from pink(ing)

&nbsp;


&nbsp;


&nbsp;


&nbsp;


&nbsp;


&nbsp;


&nbsp;


&gt;&gt; when i meet u off&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; the grid&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;in this techy epoch


it is digital&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;deviancy : :


when i see u&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; at the party


a bolt !!&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;a smokescreen&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; backdropping


the room&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;in thick clouds&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp;of chemistry&nbsp;


//&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; we exchange&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;fine particles


&amp;&amp; i wear this skin&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; like &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; the very first time


&nbsp;


&nbsp;


&nbsp;


&nbsp;


&nbsp;


++


&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; when u take me&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; by my hardware


on the dancefloor our&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;algorithms rumble


matching the synthetized rhythms&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;that surround us


my code : : our make up &gt;&gt; a mutation occurs&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;in my body


// i do not&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;make myself&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;small


beneath it


&nbsp;


&nbsp;


&nbsp;


&nbsp;


&nbsp;


[input structure]&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; ++&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;[displacea warning]


to a former &lsquo;self&rsquo;&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; GET IN LINE&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; or face


analog walls&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; broadcasting this message


a little too loudly


//


&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;(u feel the possibility as it becomes palpable)


xx&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;(all fictions come surging to the surface)


from somewhere a cyborg is taking note of the event that will transform it

&nbsp;


&bull;


This topia begins its story as a gloss.


You encase yourself in it until you are swollen.&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; Coded.


You feel the stick of the numbers as they permeate through the skin.

An old you would have tried desperately to memorize their shapes.


&nbsp;


An old you.


&nbsp;


The system takes the form of a benevolent


graphic. Behind it,&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; a dark sky with no moon.


&nbsp;


Wipe any remaining sticky from your code.

You can&rsquo;t afford to be glitched.


&nbsp;


Not yet.


&nbsp;


&bull;


&nbsp;


&nbsp;


&nbsp;


&bull;


&nbsp;


This topia is not a fiction,&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; but there are many untruths.


You&rsquo;re sure you can detect them now.


&nbsp;


You scan the orgy of naked bodies crooning underneath the

pseudo-light of the screen, coming together to make shape movement

out of ligament &amp; belly.


Nothing concealed in the spaces between.


&nbsp;


You&rsquo;re hungry,&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; though you don&rsquo;t know what for.


You sit &amp; watch the flesh pool as it folds apart like waves.


&bull;


Caelan Ernest

from night mode

from pink(ing)

from somewhere a cyborg is taking note of the event that will transform it

from THIS TOPIA