Thought Machines – RG Vasicek

November 14, 2020

What thoughts form in your mind? What images grow? She bites her lip. Nipples hard. She pulls down her jeans. Her cock is long and hard. She has a beautiful ass. Vanilla ass. Chocolate éclair. Bewildered in the Wilderness. She owns it. Becomes a becoming. A flower blooms. Coming together of bodies. Genitalia touching. Entangling. Absorbing. Becoming. She lets out a little grunt. She murmurs. Her cock emerges. Machine thoughts. Human thoughts. Can you tell the difference? What is made. What is “made?” I suspect not. I have no control over this machine. You, either. We go along for a ride. Pawns. Control subjects in the experiment. Vectors. Blueprints. Echo chambers. Kierkegaard. 1844. Telegraph. Are you an artist? Are you engaging the present? Pattern recognitions. Humping ass like an oscilloscope. ooOOOooOOOooOOOoo. Amerika is everywhere. Always. No escape. Europe is a bagel of existence. Coffee. Tea. We may get there. The big Nowhere. Yawning. Stretching. Plasticity & elasticity of a human nervous system. We are thought machines. Underthinking. Overthinking. Bruteforce the keyspace. Eat the information. Devour. Disintegrate. Your ass is fetching. Peculiar. Tight. We no longer exist. Not here. Not now. You sleep a sleepless sleep. Day is particles of light. Electromagnetic radiation. She is Everything. Everything at once. Simultaneous. Orgasms of assonance. Amerika unfolds before you. Origami experiment. Thought Police recording your thoughts. A pyramid scheme. Illuminati. Everywhere the serpent’s hiss. The Kraken. Medusa. Tentacles of the electronic cerebellum. Big Mind. No-mind. Easy on the Tesla. It is all torque. Zero to Sixty in a nanosecond. Billionth of a second. Yottabytes of data streaming through you. Ganglia. Sex abolishes space & time. What are the consequences of our being? Fucking MacCool. Her ass in the air. She unbuttons dungarees. Citizen nomad. What is your game? Fucking each other behind glass walls. Interplay. Face-to face. Ass-to-ass. You think… what… precisely? Eager to impress friends. Lovers. Subways rumble past. You remain on the platform. There is nowhere to go. This is New York. Perhaps you have heard of it? Legendary nowhere. Bedrock for the masses. Glass towers for the oligarchs. Seas are rising. Superfast. Call J.G. Ballard. Or Dr. Vaughn. We never get anywhere fast enough. We arrive a little too late. Metropolis! She pours a can of Pepsi-Cola on a cock before giving a suck. Uptown Manhattan to a tenement apartment. We are information. We are electric lights, Pulses. Particle-waves. Photon torpedoes. Aye aye, Captain Lady Gaga. The submersible is in the East River. I gasp for oxygen. We breathe together. This is the way I write. Like a computer. East River is the East River. Nobody can say otherwise. Why would they? Is it the Liffey? The Vltava? I have no idea. Every river is all rivers. Turbulence. Placid calm. She gives me something to think about. Forever. She is out there. My Irish lass. My Irish Jewish lass. We clenched our asses a few times. Aural & tactile sensations of a great fuck. Why is this happening? Ends ending so soon.

Her eyes narrowed. Her mouth opened. She was going to come.

New ways to be: Good luck!

10:56am. Williamsburg, Brooklyn. W 6th Street. All good. I think. Capitalism is in full swing. Construction. Brick buildings. Giant cranes. Coffee shops. Iced coffee. Bird chirps. Outdoor seating. October. Virus. Pandemic. Calm pandemonium. Buttocks. Full swing. I am a writer. This is my season. Autumn melancholy. Lament of human civilization. Galactic civilization. Easy on the iced coffee. Sip. 11:01am. We are cruising. I crossed the Pulaski Bridge on a bicycle to get here. A bicycle machine. Like Beckett I guess. Or Molloy. Raw construction. Or real estate. Skeleton of a human being. Stick-figure drawing. Pencil or ink? Graffito of a fox on a brick wall. Stencil. Spraypaint. Sprained ankle. Molloy’s leg. On the handlebars. Leave Joyce behind. Beckett did. Beckett must. Sip more iced coffee. Become. Radio breeze. iPhone in my pocket. Radioactive genitalia. 5G I guess. 11:11am. What are the odds? I might be here. I feel here. Strange for me. Unusual. Zen moments. Fleeting. Let it go. Do not hold on. Do not grasp. Air. Ether. Breath. Inhale. Exhale. Implode. Explode.

She led Zig into an apartment and locked the door. Zig studied the woman. She was comely. She would, most likely, come, Zig thought.

We kept taking our pants off. Afternoon sex. Night sex. We fucked as much as we could. As if the Apocalypse was coming.