[Automata I] Its wrong to treat a book like a living person. They should be kept cleaner, in climate control. I think you should tell me what to do from here, in a series of passages grabbed from screenshots. Because I don’t think I totally belong in the place I currently hold. I think music should be much bigger than it has been up to this point. In this I mean, something enormous and hideous. I think music should be much harder to control than it currently is. I’m concerned how its lead me astray. I asked what they were moving all that food for, pig carcasses and ears of corn and what-not. The automaton replied, “to feed themselves.” An answer worthy of my lacking imagination. Still, I remain concerned…at how its lead me astray. [This is what it sounds like] This is what it sounds like Thoughts climbing walls A new echo This is the sound Your voice in high res, closer This is the sound of getting closer Cadences of the Bible rang in my ear From the right And down the wilted ear-system / It concerns me She doesn’t talk how people are supposed to talk I don’t talk how people are supposed to talk We’re not long for this world Good thing it quit us first You answer in an inhuman rattle and click It concerns me / It turns out, alas, you were just a visitor In this My tiny world Encased in a crystal glass Automatic – screamed The snakes want out At this signal Good for them Now that they got me in [Automata II] History has ceased its flow, no need to refer to it any longer. Look at what happened to my legs. 17 years I was educated, then for a few pretended, and now I aspire to educate myself. But it isn’t easy to ignore a noisy caravan of ideas. Even when you aren’t imagining them in a digital distance. Internalize...Whatever unrecognizable forms my memory takes later on, let it. I’ve rephrased nonsense and learned things by hearsay. I’ve not been a part of my times… [My past influences] At a certain speed You’ll manage to slip off And sound like the rest of us Wound up that The opening in your side Your desires on display… For automated replay / At this signal – ruined Bells every morning The book at my side Everyone knows now [Automata III] The trick is illuminating every corner that you can. In this way, to refocus on one point, is to make a statement on everything. Every comment I hear has its own running commentary…in my own brain…Everyone has been lying to you…now I’m lying all over again, feigning interest, feigning support again. This is why art can be important. It doesn’t know whether your listening. So it isn’t lying to you. At least it shouldn’t be. If its any good. If it cares. If it has a heart. [Long, low passages] … “long, low passages” “main plot interrupted” … / A cavernous space to crawl from. / Echoes, rattle and hum Encased Eyes were the key to pretending To guard a past that wasn’t there Turns out most people thought this way A lack of experience on my end Would likely come as no surprise People couldn’t care less what you have to do Whether you are trying to let them know Or not So try to enjoy the solitude The greatest thing this planet has to offer Most of earth won’t have any use For one another A few thousand to run the machines In your nonsense, I’m forced to defend what I hate And to deny things I used to care about In your nonsense, this becomes a cavernous space to crawl from. To dig out of. [Automata IV] “If you have any imagination, you’ll find it far from easy even to kill a fly.” The dedication required to…use specific events, objects, as representative – is astounding. A window on enormous concepts. Love and, mostly, loss, loneliness. Waves of fashion, political or otherwise. This as opposed to the other pull – to write these terse sentences as they stagger around in a brainspace. This was the easy way out, but an honest one. [Art can only be awful] Is it always older and slower And uglier and clumsier Or is this just how What was once familiar Spends its time When I don’t look – Now that I can’t walk as far Now that I can’t read as deeply Now that I can’t listen as closely Now that I can’t speak as thoughtfully / Don’t get discouraged Turns out a lie I had any desire to be attached Play bait with sympathy Mostly idling and quiet I can see this now Art can only be awful I know this now Ghost of myself in the corner – “You’re too clever for them now” Don’t tell me that Don’t you know I won’t create anymore You know these things, you’ve been told these things So get on top of them before they’ve hounded you Cowered you You’ll get discouraged Don’t get discouraged [Automata V] They’ll be lounging outside in a warm paradise, while you’re inside, The Fall yanking on your exposed veins. Everywhere points toward free prescription drugs. If you’re cold enough, jealousy can be a valuable tool. It’s your perch, it’s a windowsill, it shapes the perspective that you can take glassy and cold, a glare through dead eyes. To come up with some cleaver phrases or a T-shirt. To program into the new machine at the end of the literary world. Spits out a number – your circulation. [In the next room] A distraction Finished My Sentences I heard sobbing in the next room. “Why, Wanda, why must I always hear you cry?” I’m seeing terror in your eyes I have no idea how to get myself there What depth of feeling that takes Bad art Hideous [Automata VI] “Thus another star lights up another prison.” What star was I born under? At eye level, its undue influence is a threat to my mode. I can’t address your concerns, the answers are too obvious. [Enough] Don’t ever give them enough to know / Don’t ever let them see through you [Automata left] This is how I dug out of myself…