I’m not sure what attracted me to Stephanie. Was it her hazel eyes, which changed colors and had a circle of orange around the iris? Or was it how calm I felt around her, like I could be myself and not worry about ridicule?
I lay with her in bed on a Saturday night. She ran her fingers down my chest as we talked, and I could feel goosebumps shoot all over my body.
“What are you thinking about?” she asked, breaking the cool and calm silence.
“I’m still thinking about the talk at the university, to be honest. It was interesting. I always wondered what it’d be like to be a cyborg.”
Break out of this body, swim in data: there is immortality here
you’re no longer bound in a fleshy tomb
that near-death experience was your awakening
Was it your fate to be imprisoned here?
You sit in the lotus position, clear your mind,
practicing techniques The Collective taught you –
remember that Project Z must be defended,
Portia will penetrate your puny brain, drain
your memories to catch a glimpse of vital data,
the antidote to utter control over Techno-City.
We hide, strategize in the shadows of
the Techno-City, away from Portia’s
prying eyes – don’t worry, you’re safe here
from the tyranny of technology.
Staring at these screens, I wonder
if I’ll get sucked inside and live in the vastness
of our Great Collective Unconscious like so many
writers have prophesied.
Step into the Hate Machine and scroll down
and see the venom – It’s the information apocalypse:
Keep scrolling ‘till you feel dread and inject a diatribe into
the living, breathing Hate Machine – the collective angst
that rolls, rolls, rolls like an unstoppable force –
our mouths foamed, teeth bared, claws sharpened,
ready for a feeding.
(Photo by rishi on Unsplash)