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Unfiltered spam is sliding out of an abandoned memory pool. Drone circles it:
"it gazes with submissive adoration
importing the emblems of 'true'
then - punched back in hue - the thing shrivels and sighs - longing for the beloved silence"
It smells. This place I hope to leave soon. GMSN. Waiting for my ticket. Must be patient. In the meantime I'll follow this horny drone.
CUT TO: close up of drone gyrating in the alley.
"our hospitable nymph
as if stunting a body double
blots the screen
we - inspected, classified, deloused - admire her in manifest pride
as a sickly colony that pictures
itself
largely as a fantasy"
GMSN. I've built a neat recording device with which I've been quietly tracking this talkative drone. Not sure where it is headed. We're currently in an alley and the chanting of the south side miners lashes in its last echo.
at the time we all thought of ourselves as enlightened in the new
age
stuffed with ethical kitsch
shining the trash of self discovery in a continuous stipple of light
we end on profile
as an ideal republic of who
GMSN
The drone arrives and helps me to my feet.
"the first contact was social
limited to the cloud
the second contact was something more
like sparkles of growing up
on slabs of social memory"
There's only this one memory I have of him_Angel Breath_all the others have been forgotten, smeared in the server, kind of like these *points to crusty abandoned memory pools stamped into alleyways on the south side. Stumbling away from the stink I am reminded of my long lost Father. GMSN. Limited data lead me here.
south side of the block
I got onto bitcoin recently and am having a look around
I'll try be consistent here on SN, but there is so much going on - on the block, in the cloud and in my pants
what about you? what are you doing here?
"as if - (you) brilliant star, bathed in the collapse of light
holding the collar to my hug
I, for want of progeny, wrap my bulb
and blip you
into a million
billion
species"
it had a scratchiness to it, inclined to think it came from the drone, but they're making them super good now, I'm rather inspired, boys, so, it probably came from the miner. Not surprised at this point. On the south side the condition is sickening, and getting worse. What are these miners still doing here? How do they survive? Look a them - utterly deranged, their teeth are falling out from eating unfiltered spam. Disgusting. GMSN.
"who is it to go?" Two miners have pulled down their pants. An alarm takes off. Big tings, big tings I whisper. The embarrassment of sounding different subsides. I could develop a whisper that is gracious and articulate without raising concern about the letter s, I'll become the quiet guy, the chilled guy in the super boots at the factory. That'll do.
A drone that looks like the other drone is stopped by a miner and they chat:
"I want to birth something
into the block,
for rent
with an indifference towards death
and,
if it could demonstrate the language to us
face to face - you know
the laughter, the tears -
then
we could split the difference?
I couldn't tell who said it. The pants down miners on the inflating rim, they giggle. I giggle.
Nobody could hear me, nobody could see me on my pedastal. Down below, the drone minces into an alley flanked by 3d printed mining rigs, temporal shapes affected by the dash to be good, they are haphazardly plastered with anti spam posters. The trash is inspected by the drone; it sifts and orders the this into the that. My gums hurt.
Fingering my bloody mouth and peering over the informal settlement of mining rigs, a drone takes my photo.
"You need my conshent, I'll shue you!"
Ever since a solo miner punched me in the teeth I sound as though I've dropped my class.
Miners on the south side, dressed in blue polyester garb, congregate atop a single swollen memory pool glimmering with bits of spam.
"Oi, hash anybody sheen my shtep dad?"
On the south side, miners were chanting 'LFG' and 'GFY' as Miner Dash relieved the congested filter by pumping the sac.
forgive me
I’m a beginner in an amateurs age
down to the multi culti crudely carved pore-less cul-de-sac
produced in a spot of brief revelation
and if it be,
then I,
wade to song in a dress that ain't mine