NIMROD, PACING: AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY

Inside a room, there occurs a drop in atmospheric tension as the electricity momentarily heaves and collapses. The Andro-PSR reader  is now active. Attached to it is a woman. It registers sighs emitted by actresses inside a TV, a breathing Hermeneutic Circle; she has trained her heart to race with theirs. 

One of the daily Integrafeed messages briefly interrupts the hum of MUSIC FOR SELF-SHATTERING INFINITY WINDOW (third movement) throughout the closed system; comes across like an old folk song and fellates the back-brains of all the complex’s residents, to mostly positive response. Afterwards she fits herself with a codpiece made from reconstituted gel casings of Thorazine capsules. A hole has been bored through the head to allow for controlled secretions of urine, a liquid pharmaceutical milieu of birth control residue. Her husband is in the next room. Because she is deaf, he transcribes violent monologues as 3D sound sculptures: digitally automated via computer numerical control, on fiberboard (medium-density). She fingers the linguistic topography...expletive plateaus, valleys of pause...

“SǼD, BRÓKƏN BLƏ́D MOZÉɪK! SPLɪ́NTƏR FǼKƩƏNZ Ə́V AJDƐ́NTƏTI RƏ́N LÚSƏD ɪN JƆ́R DƷÍNZ, WÉTɪŊ FƆ́R ÐƏ Bɪ́G GRǼB WƐ́N WÍ FƏ́K ǼND PÍSMÌL SƐ́LJƏLƏR DÉTƏ ɪ́Z SPǼT ɪ̀NTÚ JƆ́R Tɑ́LƏRƏNT WÚM, Ə HJÚMƏN PƐ́TRI Dɪ́Ʃ, HÁWZɪŊ Ə PƐ̀RƏSɪ́TɪK, COAGULANT Bɑ́DI AND WHEN ÐÍZ FÌNƏTɪ́PɪK Mɑ́RKƏRZ ɪ̀MƏ́RDƷ, Jɪ́RZ LÉTƏR, PÍPƏL Wɪ́L Kɑ́MƐNT, Ó, ƩÍSGOT JƆ́R PƏTRɪ́ƩƏN NÓZ, ǼND JƆ́R SKƐ́PTɪK SEYES, ǼND JƆ́R ƩÍT- ÍTɪŊ GRɪ́N BUTNONE Ə́V ɪ́T ɪ́Z HƏRZ, Nɑ́T Rɪ́LI..”

(pulls hand away)

Raw pink habits of her face open up to another mirror—yet another mirror—always, endless, for no one could survive this room’s size; spatial illusions must be created through impossible labyrinths of vision; it is the most direct mode of self-awareness—ideally executed in silence. Reflective, sinister TV eye, now dead, offers an obsidian echo of her physical anxieties. She only makes movements which are reinforced by commercials—

Tilt the head back, arch the spine, stomach held back towards the kidneys

—but something, uncontrolled and interior, speaks: she remembers an edu-Integrafeed which described conceptions of eugenics, the Fascists’ cult of the body, streamlined deco 1930s ideal; racing trajectory of the fast Modern, embodied by the aesthetic of scarcity...

 A spark generated by the thought seems to flicker, as though across an axon connecting the cyanograph cells of her eyes. But, no: only a controlled deadness which belongs to the human bell curve, those who desire only memories of weather, sports scoreboards. She applies a lipstick, translucent as semen and called “Zoopraxography Degree Zero.” Designer.




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OK.

DONE. will have copies by sun/monday. this took about, uh, 9 months longer than it probably should have. but, within that time, i greatly refined those crucial authorial skills of not having money/being a lazy piece of shit.