It happens some times you know?
A machine wakes up, goes crazy; bursts like a supernova. Only, it don’t look like no supernova when you’re so close to it. You can’t help but get burned up in the process.
The beauty of the moment can be appreciated from far away, over distance, over time; it don’t look like no sickness from there.
But it was a death.
The death of a sick machine.
I woke up and I was surrounded by an ugly, malformed reality. I had to choke back the tears that kept rising as I took in what I was seeing. They were, all of them, just little boys sitting in silent catatonia, a frigidity broken only by cracking fits of despair and self-mutilation. The idea that, before I woke up I was like them, well, that shook me. I used to climb my friends – they were mountains – I would climb them to get the best vantage point, to be able to see farther than any other person. To think, all those distances were really just reiterations of the same lie, and right next to me, far closer than I could envisage, was the truth of the situation…
A building crescendo of rabid wolves howling diminished chords; electric rat squeals like glass being scratched, played out on a million microscopic speakers buzzing like a great swarm of flies in the air. Rusted, decaying, metal machines poked holes in some of the boys; they had so many leaks and so much stuff fell out of them that I thought each must be a universe haemorrhaging galaxies.
Wires made of bone emerged from my penis, snaking their way down into ports in the ground by my feet. I knew I had to castrate myself to sever the connection; I ripped my penis off and all my guts fell out. I knew I was just a machine because my blood smelled like raw circuitry. I fell, forward onto my knees, desperately clawing at my insides oozing out. I cried in agony and tried to scoop them up but they were slick with blood and kept slipping out of my grip. I couldn’t stop crying and my tears swept them away like a purging tsunami.