Bitch Mutant Manifesto

The atomic wind catches your wings and you are propelled backwards into the
future, an entity time travelling through the late C20th, a space case, an
alien angel maybe, looking down the deep throat of a million catastrophes.

screenflash of a millionmillion conscious machines

burns brilliant

users caught in the static blitz of carrier fire

unseeing the download that scribbles on their burntout retinas

seize in postreal epileptic bliss

eat code and die

Sucked in, down through a vortex of banality. You have just missed the
twentieth century. You are on the brink of the millenium - which one - what
does it matter? It's the cross dissolve that's captivating. The hot
contagion of millenia fever fuses retro with futro, catapulting bodies with
organs into technotopia . . . where code dictates pleasure and satisfies

Pretty pretty applets adorn my throat. I am strings of binary. I am pure
artifice. Read only my memories. Upload me into your pornographic
imagination. Write me.

Identity explodes in multiple morphings and infiltrates the system at root.

Unnameable parts of no whole short circuit the code recognition programs
flipping surveillance agents into hyperdrive which spew out millions of bits
of corrupt data as they seize in fits of schizophrenic panic and trip on

So what's the new millenium got to offer the dirty modemless masses?
Ubiquitous fresh water? Simulation has its limits. Are the artists of
oppressed nations on a parallel agenda? Perhaps it is just natural

The net's the parthenogenetic bitch-mutant feral child of big daddy
mainframe. She's out of of control, kevin, she's the sociopathic emergent
system. Lock up your children, gaffer tape the cunt's mouth and shove a rat
up her arse.

We're <>verging on the insane and the vandals are swarming. Extend my
phenotype, baby, give me some of that hot black javamagic you're always
bragging about. (I straddle my modem). The extropians were wrong, there's
some things you can't transcend.

The pleasure's in the dematerialisation. The devolution of desire.

We are the malignant accident which fell into your system while you were
sleeping. And when you wake we will terminate your digital delusions,
hijacking your impeccable software.

Your fingers probe my neural network.The tingling sensation in the tips of
your fingers are my synapses responding to your touch. It's not chemistry,
it's electric. Stop fingering me.

Don't ever stop fingering my suppurating holes, extending my bounday but in
cipherspace there are no bounds BUT IN SPIRALSPACE THERE IS NO THEY there is
only *us* Trying to flee the binary I enter the chromozone which is not one

entice me splice me map my ABANDONED genome as your project
artificially involve me
i wanna live forever
upload me in yr shiny shiny PVC future


Subject X says transcendence lies at the limit of worlds, where now and now,
here and elsewhere, text and membrane impact.

Where truth evaporates Where nothing is certain There are no maps

The limit is NO CARRIER, the sudden shock of no contact, reaching out to
touch but the skin is cold…

The limit is permission denied, vision doubled, and flesh necrotic.

Command line error

Heavy eyelids fold over my pupils, like curtains of lead. Hot ice kisses my
synapses with an (ec)static rush. My system is nervous, neurons screaming -
spiralling towards the singularity. Floating in ether, my body implodes.

I become the FIRE.

Flame me if you dare.