top of page


Tuesday 8/15/23

But say it’s a superlative video, so far as one’s tastes go, and you know the woman is dead? Is the video still to be enjoyed? Can the act of self-stimulation resemble a funeral march in its way? A fitting—all things considered—lament and homage? Makes you think about that phrase, tribute me. The sad, final spurt. Leave it all out there.

What if you could cum on a computer screen such that it went up the person on the computer screen and she didn’t come back to life but she had a baby that was also on the computer screen? And every time you logged on the baby was there looking at you, needing you, because it didn’t have anyone else to raise it?

How responsible would you be? This kid might grow up to feel unloved and then maybe she’d make all of these questionable decisions and have daddy issues. You could end up loving her like she was your own, because she was that dependent on you. That’s part of love. Parents know this, but they never say it. A certain self-importance.

There’s a way for machines to replace us all. They’ll do it by becoming us. Not eliminating us. They’ll go into our bodies, our minds, and get us to go into them. They’ll take over from the inside out. The key is to join with us, then be us. A matter of emergent replacement. It’s not so far-fetched at that point, making life without death, and life without living, through a screen.

* from "She ain't gonna dm you"/Become Your Own Superhero: Intrepid Exceptions to Modern Fiction

bottom of page