it's the daisy chain
of legend, that becomes myth,
becomes history, becomes fact
the gears of the robotic pen keep grinding, tracing lines in cursive over the parchment that has been pulped and liquified and electrified into the buzz of nothing: we etch worlds into radio waves that echo silently in dead space, simultaneously existing and not existing, changing everything and nothing.
we are everything. we are nothing. we buzz and beep and whirr and click, stretching and snapping to grasp meaning with unclosable hands. we swat each other like flies, hit-and-miss, and inexplicably, we take joy in deep connections while rejecting our biology.
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i. i sit quietly watching the man seeking my soft spots with nimble fingers sliding in the needles, head, neck, belly, arms i'm froz...
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