March1998 mystery date by Mark Amerika |
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Mark Amerika is the author of several books about the evolution of culture as well the keeper of AltX - and the father of Avant Pop. He wrote this letter just for you, specifically.
Lettre Lettre On The Wall
Hi,
just back from the net-lit groupie scene of London
toking in the killer burbs of Boulder
heat & wheatgrass & personalized gymnastics
no hamburg(er) connection
but totally french-fried.
oui?
one night stands out in particular:
the endless slow-motion figure of
(bodyacid)
her lips were thick and her tongue painted
it felt like the endless thrust of a mobile chunnel
her dream-narrative "glom"-ing onto something serene
(something like me)
the interiorized Netscape
falling
falling
falling
(but then I finally made it home
saved by the Belle:
I love big asses -- can hide
meanwhile
today
woke up
totally in touch with nature's own imagination
crystallizing some fossilized moment of Timelessness
streaming through my recently upgraded Sexual-Blood technology --
The Ecological Conscience:
Blue Sky sending me email telling me how caught up she was
meanwhile, go to the Ped Mall and, looking up
(with a side of testosteroni, pure noodle-think:
slurp-slurp
another potential environmental crisis forming in my pants
(maybe it was just a zit, but it felt more like a small welt: MADE ME
HARDER)
slurp-slurp
a polemical stress factor
(40% of the people surveyed said they DON'T believe me
but they still dig my style and think it's okay for me to receive
blowjobs)
slurp-slurp
a lettered nuance
(Dear A, I want to swallow you -- Love, Your Personal Slut)
and then
in the middle
in the middle of the breach:
a cacaphony of machines
fast, cheap & out of control
an army of swirling applets made of hurricane-impact Capital
Capital Integrity(TM)
(oxy moron? yes. but does it get rid of ass-maligned zits?)
by the buy
(Dear A, You owe me the fucking world and now it looks as though I've got
you by the balls, Hero-Boy. I think it's time you just face reality and
totally give in -- Love, Daddy Nanobucks).
Yesterday was great. Two things of note happened:
1. A round of post-contemporary classical behavior (insinuated by the
in-betweeness of emotion flowing from the absolute presence of an eerie
ambiance called Post-Industrial Info-Banality). I played sex-chess with a
Full-Moon Night In Shiny Armor (patent leather skinreflections: holes cut
out to expose the febrile flesh: my meat amore). She mated me, I mated
her. Queen. Rook. Check. Check Again. Non-Stop Checking Until,
Finally, Checkmate. Total Ejaculation. Death of a pawn.
2. Just spawning (surfing -- sampling -- manipulating).
Check.
(The object of this letter is to become a business plan. A press release.
A nationally-registered trademark.)
Can you believe this is a letter telling the story of a doctored artifact
created by something called a Network Publisher?
Anyway, I'm off on my next World Tour: I want to bring my ax, my girl, my
troupe of asyntactical stars inmixing desire. But I have to travel light
-- a carry-on bag and a zip disk.
What a life.
Love,
back to the junk drawer
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·smoking jacket·
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·the biswick files·
·mystery date·
·and such and such·
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·contents·
·freakshow·
·fan club·
·junk drawer·
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