Portia’s Extraction (a poem)

Portia is inside my mind

probing my memories

extracting, sorting them

into data –

looking for knowledge

of the virus

the only thing that can

save us from servitude

(Photo by Umberto on Unsplash)

Cyborg Love (a short story)

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.”

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Infiltrating the Network (a poem)

Who is behind the curtain?

Is Portia a super-intelligent AI autocrat –

or is there a murkier figure behind her avatar

hidden in dank data centers of Techno-City?

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Endless Future (a poem)

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

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Project Z (a poem)

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.

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The ‘Portia’ Cycle of Poems

I’ve been writing a series of poems that are inter-connected around the same narrative. This series started with the poem “Portia,” which was published in Bewildering Stories and which I’ve posted on the blog.

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In the Shadows of the Techno-City (a poem)

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.

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The Final Sound (a poem)

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.

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Carnival Games (a poem)

It’s 6:48 am and I am walking onto a bus
We are no longer able to be alone
The government has deemed we must stay together

This is my first day on the bus – I thought I would be on it longer
My start time is at 11:42 am

As I am ushered off the bus after twenty-five minutes
I am given directions on my phone and told to stay with the group
I must plan my escape, I must be alone

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