Friday, November 17, 2017

Day: Seriously, You can go Fuck Yourself if You Think I've Kept up with the Days

Today's mood: This is going to hurt, isn't it :(

It's happened. I've only realized it. The same thoughts. The same phases. Perpetual de ja vu. I live one moment, forever. 

My body decays. My body means nothing. Only a head remains. It dangles. It drips. 

The shrimp creatures pop death throes all around me. The brain wires flicker as they fade to embers. Vision restored. Fresh moonlight glimmers off buildings through static and spasms. 

We wait. The world vibrates. The world quakes in resistance to a failing machine. 

Robot is tense. A coiled spring. A runner seconds before gunfire.

Breathe

Next: A building ignites in the distance. Copper fragments and pipe remnants meet atmosphere. It rains metallic, mixed with rocky chucks of what's left of Mountain. 

A distraction. A sacrifice. A city on high alert.

Binary within the brain wires erupts. Overlaps. Ones and zeros have never felt so right. Robots loss bleeds into me. Infects me. His disease becomes my own. 

I'm little more than fleshy doll head. A puppet. A swinging pendulum ignited with rage. This world is going to fucking burn. 

I want this because Robot wants this. Robot has always wanted - ok listen, remember earlier when I told you you could go fuck yourself in regards to my revealing how long I've been trapped in this predicament? I'm sorry, I didn't mean it. I mean, things around here have been kind of stressful and I shouldn't have taken it out on you. It's somewhere around day 65 if I was forced to guess. 

So... we cool? Cool. Moving on...

The collective becomes alert, a faceless glow silhouetted by an encroaching dawn. Eight mechanical heads looking in eight different directions. They spin on an axis. Each a different face. Each a different emotion. All eyes and antennae, wired into a core at the center. They control the man with no face. They control the man with a mustache made of severed dicks. They control everything. 

Except me. Except Robot. We are completely offline.

Gears spin as the city locks down. Buildings in every direction become covered in layered steel. 

We have seconds. 

The planet quakes.

Robot runs for the central spire. Past the herd of fix bots. Past mechanical death rays. Past the man with no face. A power slide ends with access to the central spire as the doors crash behind.

Have you ever heard silence echo? Reverberation that mean nothing. All sound sucked into a void. Loneliness made audible.

A grid of lights meet at the center. 

Robot approaches. Robot kneels. Robot pulls off the door of a vault flush even with the floor. 

Darkness. A pit. Formless echoes speak from somewhere unseen like a thousand digital whisper. 

The chest cavity cracks. Swings open as Robot's body become horizontal. I evacuated at the speed of gravity. My brain wires catch inches from the point of impact. A hotdog dog down a highway. Teasing with just the tip. 

I sense my purpose. I sense the core of this city. I sense a glee that's not my own.

Wires sprout from my neck as I near. They leak electricity and fluid. Sparks and oily bubbles form a residue that slowly congeals into a waxy flesh substitute. No arms. No legs. All torso and cock bursting with downed power lines violently twitching from holes that never before existed. 

Robot thinks of Mountain. I think of Mountain. I think of a bathtub filled with blood splatter covering the naked form that was my body in another life.

This was meant to be. 

Deal with it. *disembodied sassy finger snap*

Saturday, April 29, 2017

Day 63: 6666666666666666*

Today's mood: As my body slow rots into a dripping void of oil and decay, I've finally accepted that I'm nothing more than the number six placed sixteen times (see above ^) 

I sense a presence within the chest cavity. A floating cigarette burn, just on the edge of perception. A mini singularity. It sucks all matter and emotion. 

Robot is silent. Robot doesn't trust me. Robot doesn't trust anyone. 

The city spins around us as we hide from the collective. All gears and consciousness. A smooth jazz without sound. A lingering darkness. The word pizazz for no reason. 

We wait. 

It's been so long. My arms no longer exist. My memory is thin. Exposed bone with a hint of Alzheimer's. A torso. Greasy. Clear gobblules of something akin to chicken fat coats what's left of my skin. Only pain and the impression of a dead world remains. It's the only thing I'm allowed to think of.

What's left of my body tingles in unexpected places. 

Suddenly, the brain wires ignite. A secret code written within the bloodstream. A thousand zeros. A thousands ones. It tickles with all the joy of phantom paralysis. A glimpse that fades like a dream. 

Then it's gone. I'm all alone again. 

The presences vanishes. The concept of the word hollow as a physical entity. Remember it. It will be important later.

It's night.

Robot is on the move. 

This will hurt someone.

...........


*theres no such thing as six






Thursday, May 12, 2016

Day 54: I'm Starting to Think I'm Broken; or, Have you ever seen how Beautiful Natural Lights Glints off a Razor?

Today's mood: There's so many things I wish I could say to you...

Setting: Imagine if you will, a dark alley within a city of collapsing metal buildings covered in layers of spinning gears and brass tubes. No curves. Only corners. They're broken. Shattered remnants within shattered remnant. Parallels set against walls that hang at impossible angles. The tubes lining each fray into separate paths at the base of each; a web that stretches to all corners of the city. 

Robot is fetal within the darkness. Motionless. A statue of disease and apprehension. He hides from a Collective that never rests.

Time means nothing. Only the solution. 

I dangle within the chest cavity from brain wires without mercy like the merry little marionette I was meant to be. Waiting for the next move. Waiting for the connection to give me something. Anything. I can feel our paths diverging. I feel numb. Drained. As un-automated in life as I was in death. Flesh inflated by stale ozone and a distance sense of self.

A void replaces the memory. The shrimp creatures stir. Circle. Their chitters overwhelm me. They coalesce. Merge. All become one. A reflection. Face to face. Eyes like coal. A tender embrace of tentacles and feelers follows. I think it's trying to tell me something. 

A beep. A surge. I see a vision of a world without atmosphere through the connection. Rock and desert. Everything I never wanted. The chitters stop. The mammoth shrimp dissolves one particle at a time. Embers become ash. 

Robot remains motionless.

Robot is giddy with anticipation. 

Robot's love was a false hope.

*****BONUS ACTIVITY!!!!*****

Unscramble the highlighted letters to decode a secret message from Robot!

_ _ _' _ _   _ _ _   _ _ _ _ _   _ _   _ _ _

Well that's certainly terrific news! 

Tuesday, May 3, 2016

Day 53: I'm Hoping You Were Not Expecting This To Go Any Other Way

Today's mood: I'm starting to grow hair in strange places

"No captive detected. You many pass." The pre-recorded words are scratched out with a needle from a within the grooves of a spinning clay cylinder lodged and amplified deep in the depths of a Guardian Death Ray. It said only one thing, forever.

Robot's body beeps in preprogrammed acknowledgement. It walks through a pair of gates into the city. The Guardian Death ray swivels. The sedatives begin to fade. 

The connection buzzes. All ones. No zeros. Robots body becomes epileptic. Freezes. Reboots.

A five second count down. A possession. The chest cavity comes to life around me with lights and beeps long forgotten. A pause. A moment of eternal bliss. 

Robot is restored. 

I rejoice. I weep uncontrollably. Duel oil slicks pour down my face.

We enter a district of hollow square buildings. They shimmer with a copper finish. Gears spin all around us. Friction against friction. A churning heat. 

We juke left past a pair of automatons. Crouched. A stealth machine. 

Mountain waits in a nearby alley. Motionless. Unmovable. A master of disguise. Shadows dance within crevasses guarding secrets known only to Robot. Pastel flowers bloom in spiraled patterns upon her summit. The fake beard glued to her cliff face isn't fooling anyone. 

Love surged through the connections. Robots lust becomes my own. 

Robot reaches into a cavern at her base with the delicate grace of a gentleman. Slow. Never eager. 

A moment of ecstasy. A hidden hard drive pulled out from within. 

Robot plugs it in. Visions of computer viruses dance in my head. I see his death. I see my death. I see the death of everything. Complete global meltdown. I've never been better.

Robot smiles at Mountain with metal teeth like jagged rooftops. 

Robot turns away. 

Robot has become a disease. 

Friday, April 1, 2016

Day 52: With Imaginary Laser Eyes that Reach Forever Beyond the Horizon. They Cut Everything they Touch in Half. They're Endless.

Today's mood: (You did this)

A sedative filters though the connection. A slow drip of binary. Hazy and nuanced.

A word. A Sentence fragment. Existential despair. Multiply.

And again.

A soft fading light. That means something, right? 

Thought so.

More words. More about the connection. Pain. Forgotten Limbs. Bloody and meaningless.

This is the middle of our story. I thought you should know. I want to tell you everything but I'm numb, trapped within a cloud of churning darkness. I wish I could explain the apprehension I feel at this moment. 

Next, a call to action. A ping. A metal void. Then nothing. I don't think this was meant to be. 

Spoiler: I fail at everything.

Closing line. 

(2) Closing line.

(3) ...

Another drip. Hesitation. That all too familiar sound of chitters all around me. I bask. My heart slows. Every beat softer than the next. Blood and oil pools within orafices I never knew existed. All but the most basic synapses fire. It's all complete nonsense.

This-

Wait! Are you still here? You should be ashamed of yourself. 

*Writers note: I think there was supposed to be mention of a city that works as an engine which prevents the core of the planet from becoming cataclysmically stagnant and eliminating the planets magnetic field in turn killing everything somewhere in all that. Sorry. I may have fucked that up.

Thursday, February 18, 2016

Day 45: I Swear I Started This With the Best of Intentions

Today's mood: Holy Shit!

I've been asleep for so long...

I awake within a graveyard of Robots. A thousand broken machines scattered in all directions. Stagnant. Without meaning. Without purpose. Streams of dried blood rusts a thousand torsos. Dead, castrated captives dangle limp from a thousand shattered chest cavities.

Next: A flash in the distance. A figure emerges. A shadowed vortex. One armed. Three fingered. Eyes like hollowed emeralds. A mustache made of bloody dicks swings majestically from its lip-line like so many war metals. An assassin for the collective.

Robots body twitches. Robots body goes limp.

The connection becomes numb. I become numb. Undetectable as I hang from faulty brain wires.

Robot whispers sweet nothings to me from beyond the void. It soothes me. It assures me. It speaks about a tepid meadow. It speaks about Mountain. It speaks about how things will soon being back the way they use to be. He dots the I of his promise with a heart.

I'm giddy even as his voice fades. Me and Robot. Together. Forever.  It's almost too much.

I need that pain.

I long for that pain.

I'm fuzzy all over.

Next: Another flash. Another beacon. The skyline of a forgotten city ripples on the horizon; a jagged silhouette of a thousand geared tendrils scraping across a washed out firmament. Fluid in motion.
It's gone in seconds.

The graveyard becomes eternal. An endless plain without thought or memory.

The ground rumbles. The ground quakes. The first of many.

The shadowed vortex freezes just shy of Robot. It dissipates with unseen movements, driven by an unseen command.

Robot speaks.

Robots body comes back online.

Robot's body gyrates.

We have only seconds to act.



*Editors note: There's a little bit of Robot's love inside us all, if you're just willing to open your heart!*















Monday, July 6, 2015

Day... it doesn't matter. Maybe it never mattered. 30? I don't know. What is a day? What is a number? Maybe they're just constructs Robot created to keep control of me. Dude. Maybe the real meaning of numbers is, like, god or- Wait. I'm sorry. I just checked. It is day 30. Day 30: Factory Reset


Today's mood: [insert sad face emoticon]

SYSTEM REBOOT COMPLETE...

I awake dangling within the chest cavity of a Blank. The connections dead. Robot's body stomps mindlessly through a velvet field, driven by a base command. These new beeps mean nothing to me.

Easy listening plays softly through a blown speaker, all flutes and crackles lulling me into submission at 45 beats per minute. It's soothing. It's suffocating. A default program. A god damn nightmare.

INITIALIZING SECONDARY PROTOCOL...

ERROR 276...

SWITCHING TO EMERGENCY PROTOCOL 7.3

A hatch opens. A pill drops. Held within the grip of two tiny metal pinchers. Thin. Yellow. The numbers 100110 pressed into the front. A picture of a Manticore pressed into the back. 

The clack of gears. An oral fixation. My jaw pivots open. The pill falls into place. It dissolves slowly with a taste something like what I have always imagined cyanide tastes like.*

My jaw slams shuts on contact. Teeth crack. Teeth shatter. My throat becomes fire. That tingle means it's working.

Next: A hum. A click set at a three second delay. My body stiffens. Robot whispers from somewhere beyond the connection. The binary is fragmented. Calm. A static void of forgotten pain.

His body locks into a fixed position mid-step. The lights dim. The music cuts in and out sporadically. My brain-wires become my noose. The shrimp creatures chitter weakly, limp on the floor.

The voice is a buzz: Robot speaks of Mountain. He speaks of forbidden code. He speaks of an organ harvester.

Suddenly, the lights flicker. The noose loosens. Oil bleeds from my ears. Smooth jazz does nothing to ease the pain of losing Robot once again.**

EMERGENCY PROTOCOL 7.3 DELETED...

INITIATING PRIME DIRECTIVE

The connection goes limp. I hit the floor on nubs filled with dead wire and three weeks of secondary shit by-product.

Robot's body beeps.

Robot's body twitches back to life.

Robot's body continues its mindless journey to nowhere.

...

*Fairly sweet with a smooth, almost tangy aftertaste.

**Whoever said patience is a virtue can go fuck themselves.