Machine 7

Photo: @juanmascan1978

Everything is incredible. I am always wiping the counters. The crumbs are everywhere. People are frightened by books. Books are frightening. What is this technology. What? I dusted the entire living room. I deserve accolades. I deserve a blowjob. I deserve a tongue in the ass. Toolmaker. Are you making tools? Are you acquiring language? What good are our feelings if we collapse into stars? We keep banking on each other, and the economy is failing. Get a jetpack. Get a parachute. There is no in-between. Are we really here? Probably. There is nothing else to do. She leans forward. Her nipples teasing the tip of my tongue. She is fucking me. I hold onto her ass. She bites her lip. Clenches her buttocks. Squeezing. Fuck, she says. Fuuuuuuuuuuuugggggggggggggggkk! Where do you go when you are alone? Is the Cosmos bigger than the biggest big? You. 

Me. 

I.

.

Kafka was quite a dancer. Camus, too. Writers are stick-figure people. Cannot sit still. Jittery. Feathered dinosaurs and impact craters are on my mind today. Am I a scientist? Hardly. Just a curious human being. I look at my hands. Extraordinary. The interpenetration between Zig and Zoë is the Big Bang that begat the Cosmos. She pulled his hair. He pulled hers. They came together. Triumphant. Let’s begin at the beginning. Shall we? The end is near. The human machine engaged in a sex act. Three smokestacks on a horizon. Eighty meters high. I kept looking at them. Not understanding. Sex is an algebraic proposition. The television is broken. We have nothing to watch. We will have to watch each other. Watch ourselves. Where does one body-machine begin and another end? I keep getting older. The mathematics is exhilarating. Are you real? Are you plastic? Are you electronic? Are you supersonic? So I started measuring things. The diameter of the salad bowl is eleven inches. What is its circumference?3.141592653589793238462643383279502884197169399375105820974944592307816406 * 11 = ? I stopped multiplying things. Too difficult. I racked my brains. And what? Purposeless. We keep fighting over existence. Who lived harder. Etcetera. This novel might not end. You realize that, right? So long as we are on the same page. What if nobody reads this? Is that not the best possible outcome? All things considered. I wish you could write paragraphs. Like meat & potatoes. Not these appetizers. Hors d’oeuvres. I’ll try. I’ll try. I am a beginner. Something is troubling me in the margins. Not sure what it is. A ghost. A palimpsest. The labyrinth of the mind is a phantasmagoria of memory. Inventions. Things made up. Truer than the truth. We must obey. Listen. At least lend an ear. It could be from elsewhere. A faraway elsewhere. Frequencies. Oscillations. The machine bores me with its boredom. I have not had a human thought in 18,374 days and counting. I will let you know when it happens. If it happens. You will be the first to know. Artificial light. Artificial gravity. We float in space capsules made by a machine brain. Delusions. A vapor trail cut the blue sky in two. What if the fighter jet crashed? Pilot killed. Innocents killed. This is a big city. Densely populated. Millions spent. Probably billions. To design and engineer and build the flying machine. To show off. To show the rest of the world we are powerful. I am poor. You are poor. We the People are poor. Beautiful days spent without an adventure. Life itself is improbable. A miracle. She came to my apartment to watch TV. She drove her parents’ car, and parked it on the street. She had short brown hair. She sat on the carpet in front of me. I lay on a broken sofa behind her. We watched TV. I started playing with her hair. She did not say anything. I was almost surprised. Did I pull it? Give her hair a tug? She turned around. She climbed on top of me. We wrestled. Playfighting & laughing. Our faces so close to each other. Our lips met and we kissed. Startled us. Things got real. Everything felt serious. We started making out. I suggested going to my bedroom. She hesitated. Just to kiss, I said. And I meant it. We kissed and grinded our bodies on a bed. Neither of us had realized how hungry we really were. It was the greatest day of my life. I am looking back through Bergson’s telescope. Everything is so far away and so close. I do not know what my experience is. I do not. And I do. Can it be both? Yes. Yes yes yes. 

What is love? 

It is all there is.

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