Artificial Being

Time is a majestic courtesan. Planning ahead what he'll do and how'll fuck and how'll she'll screw. My mind is in passionate madness - a state both static and everchanging.

A state that defies definition and elopes with it.
A state in denizens of lost merge with denizens of the accepted.
A state in which stagnation copulates with adrenalin vertigo.
A state in which other valves stick and other valves twist ....

I am no interloper but I am intruder. In this world of humans I exist as a human-non-human. I was born out of a woman - birthed too by the seed of man - but is humanity just sperm and ovum?

I feel empty. Holding a gun to my head signifies nothing. Triggering that lead aphrodisiac signifies nothingness and somethingness of the kind of empty-full reason.

You are not needed.

My voice bellows like a dying wolf who has not mated - feast the thickening cum of companionship - never assaulted one's nerves with life.

Let me tell you of pregnation or is it impregnation - nation - why does that word come along - 'cause reproduction is a state farce and I am evidence to that farce - sexuality equals nothing. I am homosexually-bisexually-heterosexualy numb but polysexually active - like a drug who can be a placebo - play nude for the paying class and play lady-gent for a club-den for fools and foxes.

The fox - hmmm - like a truth I want fox-fur. I can kill a fox for it but why would I? - hurts to be killed but killing is hurt and not killing can hurt too. I choose not-kill. Pain is sometimes chosen.

Like an abstinance from the sex-drive.

They, my parents, where happy of me. But they cared only for my accomplishments as I was an accomplishment of biological interference. They raped me in. I was brought by force like a violated genitilia inclined to respond as assaulter hopes to respond as well.

They call me 'doll' as a cute pet name unaware that I can kill them for saying things as such. Creep into them like the ousted snake and give them a forbidden fruit - MURDER IS CALLED SIN - Am I what is murder not? To give me kisses and cares but unawares that I am living.

Born of death and life I am placed into this suit called my body. Now I see myself. I have cuts. They come and go and doctors say they are natural to me.

I should be happy. My uniqueness is this. To have cuts and still heal. Body damaged but not so. Is it immortal?

HMph - why do humans crave this immortality? It serves no purpose - I think life should be liquified as assets nor else why do we have blood?

I think I can kill myself now. With those yearned for permanent cuts - but a hope-resistance still endures.

I guess in this line of biological-psyche-functioning I am human.

Man made a pit with a shovel. Both earth and steel are needed. Fucking is earth and steel.

They killed me and buried me under while being born. In a fabricated lie of miracles and medicines and powers and possessions. Heart can burn like marshallows in a stick - cannibalistically devoured around bonefires and sex-in-the-woods.

They said I was promise. Like that solves any fucking thing?
Like words as "promise" and "progress" and "position" have a good sense?
Its a lore to lure weary beings - wearisome I am but not a weary being - my brain decodes and the detonation and connotation of these words are synthesized as such -

THEY ARE MANIPULATIVE

So, now where am I?

I am in exile. A runaway. No more scientists, doctors or parents to please. It's just me. And Cave. And some dead bodies - I don't eat them - they eat me - they are failed projects of another kind - some were hermaphrodites and others were clones.

They are buried now. I hear them saying "Fight."

I can see it now - the ambivalence of me - the thunder claps my arrival - a stand ovation - for I was more than the device required. Me, not so simple. This not so tangled-complex.

Artificial Being.