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February 2, 2015



A Flaw In The Recording: Channeled



I am going to tell you just how fucked you are.


The Borr’ians are the humans here who know how to use all the tricks and the things you just laugh off as bullshit. The use of Astrologists in the stock market. The precise use of Feng-Shui in siting corporate headquarters and arranging office layouts. Or the use of NLP and Ericksonian hypnosis, motivational gurus and occult jargon. All used to corral you.


And believe me; no doctor will give you a prescription that you actually need.


The phone rings three times, triggering your implant.


I had grown up in the order. Bred specifically with the DNA to be made into the new breed. Crawling micro-organisms spread like ink into every aroused pore, From skin to bloodstream to brain, like a fever.


Genetically-modified by ballistics experts for anti-zen/anti-purity of purpose, the next step in bullet evolution that waited patiently to be born and to slide from its steel canal, joyfully burrowing through the atmosphere at twenty five hundred feet per second in search of a human host. The infant slug knows it can only successfully impregnate its chosen president if his head is made empty of all thought; otherwise, there will be no room there for the shell to grow to maturity and riflehood. It’s delicate, improbable work, impregnating a man from space with bullets.


Instead of being a bullet in a gun to be fired by the Borr’ians I wanted a say into what I was to be. Free will. It was a “flaw” in the DNA. I was my own trigger mechanism, to go off when and wherever I chose.


Everything you do is collected and compiled. You could literally be rewritten if they chose. A curious glance at the digitally-counterfeited ‘celebrity porn’ sites on the Net will reveal, to your undoubted delight or dismay, that Famed Philosophers Faking is not so far from the truth of the labyrinthine byways of  No-one is safe any longer, no image beyond capture, dissection and proliferation, no text sacred and inviolate. You have long ago, already agreed to become fair game for cameras, computers and wire.


The telephone rings four times. A synthesized Hawking-voice, monotonous, triggers the implant.


The Machmen machines are not designed to hurt you.

Do you love yourself ?

Do you have sexual dreams?


You had a perfect life that you thought you always wanted. 2.5 kids and a wife. But you had to pay for it. You had perfect everything but with a hint of it not being real somehow. Too perfect.


Desire for a beauty manifested in unconventional and subversive shapes. A nymph with strange fleshy excrescences growing undisturbed under her skin. A dreamworld. You could have it if you just signed your name on the dotted line.


You are a slave. Do you think for a moment that you can ever really say or do what you want? You can’t dream without fear of punishment, even if it is your own hypodermic guilt making you look to religion, drugs or suicide as an escape. Trust me, I know. I was bred to rule over you.


Because a fragmented mind is unable to make intelligent and wise choices. Multiply the scenario by a couple of generations brought up on genetically manipulated food and attention span-decreasing technology and you have a pretty accurate overview of the impending apocalypse. Which will, of course, be both televised and streamed. You will never learn.


Smile for the camera.




Anything I write here is non-linear. Everything that has happened to me, is happening, or will happen is occurring all at once will accept responsibility for such filth as Linear Mathematics In Infinite Dimensions: (or the man who fell to earth), The Alpha:1989 series, Alphaaa:Blue 2012 -the rise, fall and inevitable rebirth of Jacurutu23, and appear within ‘CUT UP! An Anthology Inspired by the Cut-Up Method of William S. Burroughs and Brion Gysin’. Forthcoming is “Prepare to Become Fictional” (Oneiros Books). I do not exist when not writing.



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