BITCH MUTANT MANIFESTO by VNS Matrix, 1996
wind catches your wings and you are propelled backwards into the future,
an entity time travelling through the late C20th, a space case, an alien
angel maybe, looking down the deep throat of a million
screenflash of a millionmillion conscious
users caught in the static blitz of
unseeing the download that scribbles on their burntout
seize in postreal epileptic bliss
eat code and
Sucked in, down through a vortex of banality. You have just
missed the twentieth century. You are on the brink of the millenium -
which one - what does it matter?
It's the cross dissolve that's
captivating. The hot contagion of millenia fever fuses retro with futro,
catapulting bodies with organs into technotopia . . . where code dictates
pleasure and satisfies desire.
Pretty pretty applets adorn my
throat. I am strings of binary. I am pure artifice.
Read only my
memories. Upload me into your pornographic imagination. Write
Identity explodes in multiple morphings and infiltrates the
system at root.
Unnameable parts of no whole short circuit the code
recognition programs flipping surveillance agents into hyperdrive which
spew out millions of bits of corrupt data as they seize in fits of
schizophrenic panic and trip on terror.
So what's the new millenium
got to offer the dirty modemless masses?
Ubiquitous fresh water?
Simulation has its limits. Are the artists of oppressed nations on a
parallel agenda? Perhaps it is just natural selection?
the parthenogenetic bitch-mutant feral child of big daddy mainframe. She's
out of of control, kevin, she's the sociopathic emergent system.
up your children, gaffer tape the cunt's mouth and shove a rat up her
We're <>verging on the insane and the vandals are
Extend my phenotype, baby, give me some of that hot black
javamagic you're always bragging about. (I straddle my modem). The
extropians were wrong, there's some things you can't transcend.
pleasure's in the dematerialisation. The devolution of desire.
are the malignant accident which fell into your system while you were
sleeping. And when you wake we will terminate your digital delusions,
hijacking your impeccable software.
Your fingers probe my neural
network. The tingling sensation in the tips of your fingers are my
synapses responding to your touch. It's not chemistry, it's electric. Stop
Don't ever stop fingering my suppurating holes,
extending my boundary but in cipherspace there are no bounds
SPIRALSPACE THERE IS NO THEY
there is only *us*
Trying to flee
the binary I enter the chromozone which is not
resistance is futile
entice me splice me map my ABANDONED
genome as your project
artificially involve me
i wanna live
upload me in yr shiny shiny PVC future
Subject X says transcendence lies at the limit of worlds,
where now and now, here and elsewhere, text and membrane
Where truth evaporates Where nothing is certain There are
The limit is NO CARRIER, the sudden shock of no contact,
reaching out to touch but the skin is cold...
The limit is
permission denied, vision doubled, and flesh necrotic.
evaporates Where nothing is certain There are no maps
The limit is
NO CARRIER, the sudden shock of no contact, reaching out to touch but the
skin is cold...
The limit is permission denied, vision doubled, and
Command line error
Heavy eyelids fold over
my pupils, like curtains of lead. Hot ice kisses my synapses with an
(ec)static rush. My system is nervous, neuronsscreaming - spiralling
towards the singularity. Floating in ether, my body implodes.
become the FIRE.
Flame me if you dare.
© VNS Matrix April 1996
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