The Text

Eventually, I will join myself in absence. “Living among things designed to dispossess me.” I watch TV at my father’s house. A future stratified by the “logical extremes” of “extrapolation, spectacle, virtualization, and ‘entertainment.’” The poor of us are less than bodies – data dredged by fetishists, exploiting flesh through pixels with the polarity of water. Color dissolved in hair and skin, motion frozen and screen-grabbed. “A self-deforming cast.” I’m watching Epix – Epix Hits. Passive, like my, titillation – flaccid and cumless, edging le petite mort through RPGs and online banking. My reality colloids apart. Under a sun of milk and flour. I try absorbing language in order to feel heavier, but “everything flows… no… …thing to sink.” Without seeing the screen one only sees a prolapsed glow, splattered on the wall, across the floor. The blue light referencing abandonment. The face no longer clings viscid when split-open. Employ a digital cenotaph while I look for my body. Maybe language. Maybe language. If I can absorb it. It dissolves. Continue reading “The Text in Various Forms by Bryce Jones”