97 lines
4.0 KiB
Plaintext
97 lines
4.0 KiB
Plaintext
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Bitch Mutant Manifesto •
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https://www.obn.org/reading_room/manifestos/html/bitch.html •
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VNS Matrix •
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1996 •
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---
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The atomic wind catches your wings and you are propelled backwards into the future, an
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entity time travelling through the late C20th, a space case, an alien angel maybe, looking down the deep throat of a million catastrophes.
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screenflash of a millionmillion conscious machines •
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burns brilliant •
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users caught in the static blitz of carrier fire •
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unseeing the download that scribbles on their burntout retinas •
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seize in postreal epileptic bliss •
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eat code and die •
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Sucked in, down through a vortex of banality. You have just missed the twentieth century.
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You are on the brink of the millenium - which one - what does it matter?
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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.
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Pretty pretty applets adorn my throat. I am strings of binary. I am pure artifice.
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Read only my memories. Upload me into your pornographic imagination. Write me.
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Identity explodes in multiple morphings and infiltrates the system at root.
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Unnameable parts of no whole short circuit the code recognition programs flipping
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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.
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So what's the new millenium got to offer the dirty modemless masses?
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Ubiquitous fresh water? Simulation has its limits. Are the artists of oppressed nations on a parallel agenda? Perhaps it is just natural selection?
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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.
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Lock up your children, gaffer tape the cunt's mouth and shove a rat up her arse.
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We're <>verging on the insane and the vandals are swarming.
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Extend my phenotype, baby, give me some of that hot black javamagic you're always
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bragging about. (I straddle my modem). The extropians were wrong, there's some things
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you can't transcend.
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The pleasure's in the dematerialisation. The devolution of desire.
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We are the malignant accident which fell into your system while you were sleeping. And
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when you wake we will terminate your digital delusions, hijacking your impeccable software.
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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.
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Don't ever stop fingering my suppurating holes, extending my boundary but in cipherspace
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there are no bounds •
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BUT IN SPIRALSPACE THERE IS NO THEY •
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there is only *us* •
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Trying to flee the binary I enter the chromozone which is not one •
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XXYXXYXXYXXYXXYXXYXXYXXYXXYXXYXXYXXYXXYXX •
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genderfuck me baby •
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resistance is futile •
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entice me splice me map my ABANDONED genome as your project •
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artificially involve me •
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i wanna live forever •
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upload me in yr shiny shiny PVC future •
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SUCK MY CODE •
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Subject X says transcendence lies at the limit of worlds, where now and now, here and
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elsewhere, text and membrane impact.
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Where truth evaporates Where nothing is certain There are no maps •
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The limit is NO CARRIER, the sudden shock of no contact, reaching out to touch but the
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skin is cold... •
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The limit is permission denied, vision doubled, and flesh necrotic.
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Where truth evaporates Where nothing is certain There are no maps •
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The limit is NO CARRIER, the sudden shock of no contact, reaching out to touch but the
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skin is cold... •
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The limit is permission denied, vision doubled, and flesh necrotic. •
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Command line error •
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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
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singularity. Floating in ether, my body implodes.
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I become the FIRE.
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Flame me if you dare.
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© VNS Matrix April 1996
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