You can not select more than 25 topics
Topics must start with a letter or number, can include dashes ('-') and can be up to 35 characters long.
97 lines
4.0 KiB
97 lines
4.0 KiB
5 years ago
|
Bitch Mutant Manifesto •
|
||
|
|
https://www.obn.org/reading_room/manifestos/html/bitch.html •
|
||
|
|
VNS Matrix •
|
||
|
|
1996 •
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
---
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
The atomic wind catches your wings and you are propelled backwards into the future, an
|
||
|
|
entity time travelling through the late C20th, a space case, an alien angel maybe, looking down the deep throat of a million catastrophes.
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
screenflash of a millionmillion conscious machines •
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
burns brilliant •
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
users caught in the static blitz of carrier fire •
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
unseeing the download that scribbles on their burntout retinas •
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
seize in postreal epileptic bliss •
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
eat code and die •
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
Sucked in, down through a vortex of banality. You have just missed the twentieth century.
|
||
|
|
You are on the brink of the millenium - which one - what does it matter?
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
It's the cross dissolve that's captivating. The hot contagion of millenia fever fuses retro with futro, catapulting bodies with organs into technotopia . . . where code dictates pleasure and satisfies desire.
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
Pretty pretty applets adorn my throat. I am strings of binary. I am pure artifice.
|
||
|
|
Read only my memories. Upload me into your pornographic imagination. Write me.
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
Identity explodes in multiple morphings and infiltrates the system at root.
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
Unnameable parts of no whole short circuit the code recognition programs flipping
|
||
|
|
surveillance agents into hyperdrive which spew out millions of bits of corrupt data as they seize in fits of schizophrenic panic and trip on terror.
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
So what's the new millenium got to offer the dirty modemless masses?
|
||
|
|
Ubiquitous fresh water? Simulation has its limits. Are the artists of oppressed nations on a parallel agenda? Perhaps it is just natural selection?
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
The net's the parthenogenetic bitch-mutant feral child of big daddy mainframe. She's out of of control, kevin, she's the sociopathic emergent system.
|
||
|
|
Lock up your children, gaffer tape the cunt's mouth and shove a rat up her arse.
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
We're <>verging on the insane and the vandals are swarming.
|
||
|
|
Extend my phenotype, baby, give me some of that hot black javamagic you're always
|
||
|
|
bragging about. (I straddle my modem). The extropians were wrong, there's some things
|
||
|
|
you can't transcend.
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
The pleasure's in the dematerialisation. The devolution of desire.
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
We are the malignant accident which fell into your system while you were sleeping. And
|
||
|
|
when you wake we will terminate your digital delusions, hijacking your impeccable software.
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
Your fingers probe my neural network. The tingling sensation in the tips of your fingers are my synapses responding to your touch. It's not chemistry, it's electric. Stop fingering me.
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
Don't ever stop fingering my suppurating holes, extending my boundary but in cipherspace
|
||
|
|
there are no bounds •
|
||
|
|
BUT IN SPIRALSPACE THERE IS NO THEY •
|
||
|
|
there is only *us* •
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
Trying to flee the binary I enter the chromozone which is not one •
|
||
|
|
XXYXXYXXYXXYXXYXXYXXYXXYXXYXXYXXYXXYXXYXX •
|
||
|
|
genderfuck me baby •
|
||
|
|
resistance is futile •
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
entice me splice me map my ABANDONED genome as your project •
|
||
|
|
artificially involve me •
|
||
|
|
i wanna live forever •
|
||
|
|
upload me in yr shiny shiny PVC future •
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
SUCK MY CODE •
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
Subject X says transcendence lies at the limit of worlds, where now and now, here and
|
||
|
|
elsewhere, text and membrane impact.
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
Where truth evaporates Where nothing is certain There are no maps •
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
The limit is NO CARRIER, the sudden shock of no contact, reaching out to touch but the
|
||
|
|
skin is cold... •
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
The limit is permission denied, vision doubled, and flesh necrotic.
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
Where truth evaporates Where nothing is certain There are no maps •
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
The limit is NO CARRIER, the sudden shock of no contact, reaching out to touch but the
|
||
|
|
skin is cold... •
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
The limit is permission denied, vision doubled, and flesh necrotic. •
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
Command line error •
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
Heavy eyelids fold over my pupils, like curtains of lead. Hot ice kisses my synapses with an (ec)static rush. My system is nervous, neuronsscreaming - spiralling towards the
|
||
|
|
singularity. Floating in ether, my body implodes.
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
I become the FIRE.
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
Flame me if you dare.
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
© VNS Matrix April 1996
|