Reminds me of an early childhood dream. I'm in my neighborhood, and I'm riding my tricycle down the sidewalk and it's dark, like before a storm. Up in the sky, one of the clouds is a big benevolently smiling man's face. I ride and it stares down at me. Perhaps that's when the surveiller took residence in my inner life. The rest has been one long monkey hand on the train tracks. Then again there was that wetdream about sex with a robot, a very square and only faintly anthropomorphic robot ...
Desire, I think, can be reduced to a surface, a shape, a pattern, mere geometry. I recall being aroused by images of bucking horses from a Zoobooks magazine. I would see a similar profile on a pornstar in one of those 2-min clip compilation tapes. Just as I climaxed, I stood there watching the screen and the image faintly bobbing between the screen noise of the paused video tape. I pulled myself back from a deeply penetrative and transfixed gaze and realized then that desire, for me at least, was completely disembodied, fragmentary, impersonal, potentially destructive. At that moment the paths to bodily mutilation, skin suits, dismemberd feet strapped into stilettos opened up to me. I could understand just how perverted, corrupt, or powerful desire could be, and I resigned myself to a private life spent in the company of silence, a silence that the ears fill with ringing.
ring
Then I bought a digital camera and began collecting body parts.
Soon I can create a franken-human:
One possible future is very literally a utopia; it will be a no-place, created from a non-collaborative collection of imagery.
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