Zig is a quantum being. He [is/is not] in Astoria, Queens… now! He lingers. He perseveres. [She/he] reads your mind. You read [his/hers]. Entanglement. String theory. Zig theory. No theory. We just are. The Machine must be kept running. So we are taught since birth. Obey.
Cosmic explosions on the edge of the Observable Universe. Intergalactic civilizations plan their attack. We barely keep it together. Implosions. Sinkholes.
SF at its finest. She gets my ass out of yoga pants. We summit Orgasm Peak.
Zoë opens her eyes. I am you. I am here. There are thirteen control rooms in the metropolis. Watching us. All of us. Be alert in your surroundings … invisible environments. Steel staircases. Concrete rooms. Thirteen-feet high. The far wall. The opposite wall. A brutalist concrete structure with dome windows. Peak into the labyrinth. Peek into the peephole. Your entire existence is an oscillation. Peaks & troughs. I see it all. You see it all.
Morning arrives. Briefly and succinctly, we fuck. Electronic brain. Zoë & Zig.
Zoë was a real thigh-slapper. She liked to be on top. She liked to be on all fours. And Zig? Zig liked what Zoë liked. Impossible to tell them apart.
Who are you? This page must show. We are creatures if Time. Space implodes. Nervous excitement. His cunt. Her dick
Eat each other’s asses.
Make knowledge into gnocchi. Know thyself. Know Others.
A University degree is not required for a ticket to Rye.
Get on the train. Get off. Get on. Get off. Get on. Drink an oil can.
Intergalactic spaceships are the way to go. Forget the landlocked trains. The earth-locked trains. All aboard a space vessel! A spacecraft!
Do I dare make a pencil-sketch? Do I dare make marks on a page?
Do I dare gather particles of light into a camera?
She sits on me. Gives me pleasure. I look up at her: microgestures of face.
I like him. I want to see his ass. Suck his cock.
I sit in a chair. London’s Central Criminal Court. Murmuring the words in Clause Ten of England’s 1689 Bill of Rights. Amerika is against me. The UK is against me. Is the planet against me? The Earth? Are you a human being? Are you a cyborg? I ask because I ask. I like to ask questions. Big questions. Deep questions. Gravitas. I feel the plutonium in an atomic pile. My second brain is ready to explode. Electronic brain. Evidence of your human imagination. Sex in an echo chamber. Or perhaps an anechoic chamber. Vibrations. Oscillations. Aches of existence. Persistence. Lovers in spacetime. Floaters. Upward thrusters. Buttocks engaged. Feel your/my/our feelings. Feel.
Under blue-mesh panties copper pubic hair. Labia glistens. Supergravity enlarges cock. Zig lowers himself onto Zoë. Heat of bodies. Penetration. Fucking begins. Asses clench.
Enough is enough. I am here. Forever.
Freezing my ass off in cyberspace.
“I just want to be happy,” Geena Betelgeuse says. It is a crazy thing to say. Especially in Amerika. But Gina says it.
“OMG!” says her best Jocelyn “Are you crazy?”
Geena is picked up by the Secret Police an hour later. The unmarked Air Cruiser is piloted by an Agent named Zig Kleuker. His codename is Mosquito. Because Zig stings. Zig buzzes. Zig annoys.
“Hi,” Geena says.
“Silence,” Zig says.
“You have the right to remain silent.”
“OK,” Geena says, “I like to talk.”