Friday, November 1, 2013

Sex in Binary. (First part.)

          The burn of the whiskey hit my stomach like a lead weight and pulled me back, grounding me from the floating, detached buzz I’d been working on for the better part of two hours. It was my fourth, so the burn was surprising, a sign that they’d decided I was too drunk to notice and switched me for well, and that sudden shock explained why I was only just now realizing the girl on stage in front of me wasn’t a real girl. While I’d been leaning my elbows on the shiny metal rail around the chromed stage, letting the thumping Shinjuku beat batter my ears similar to the drink battering my brain, I’d been happy to appreciate the exaggeratedly endowed female figure on the elevated dance floor. Her spasmodic gyrations still struck me as alluring as she peeled off parts of a Pan Asian Sphere Military uniform that would never be regulation, given how short and low it was. 

          Tanned flesh, garish color spilled from dusty spotlights, thudding music made of equal parts bass and Ecstasy tabs, all mixed with the liquor in a nice, if base scene. If the alcohol had stayed consistent I could have lost myself in this for hours, mesmerized in a synthetic tribal dance, a Wicca fertility ritual by computer. Brain lost in dreams of neon-back lit fucking by monitor light. Instead the shock nailed me and I became aware. Aware that the chrome was stained around the area where pawing people sat, aware that the place stank, aware that all of the neon and spotlights were encrusted with a grime of dust and pheromones.

          Worse, every detail of the dancer popped out without asking and forced themselves in a mob past my fervent desire to be fooled. Her hands were too big to start. The bones were a dead give-away, the wrists solid and heavy against the feminine arms that supported them. Up the sloping, delicious looking curve of one arm to a now bared shoulder I’d just thought about biting, to, oh fucking hell, an Adam’s apple. They could do wonders with the human body, and hands were often slim on men, but there was still little to be done for that red flag. The red flickering light hit that subcutaneous chunk of male cartilage and contrasted with the purple light that bathed the stage and suddenly the rest clicked before shoving me face-first into Uncanny Valley. She wasn’t even real.  

          The male to female thing I could have handled, but she was a hologram produced from whole cloth and projected onto a fine mist of nanomachines that hung on the stage meaning they intentionally made her a noticeable change. Somehow this was too much deception for me, the hazy dreams I’d been entertaining involving bending her over and grabbing those nice big tits went into a tumbling free-fall. First I had to deal with the fact that my brain tossed in her having a 14” cock (my brain gets vindictive), then suddenly my dick’s inside of a swirling mass of ones and zeroes. A man can only take so much, even if that man had been sitting in a strip club for hours, getting increasingly drunk waiting on an employer who seemed as though he’d never show.

          I pushed away from the stage, hearing the cherry red plastic chair make a noise that made my skin crawl as I peeled away from it, and made a deal with myself to not acknowledge that the edge of the chrome where I’d touched it was sticky.

          As I turned from the lewd jerking computer program I nearly bounced off of a stout little man in the sort of cheap suit people wear and think other people think is expensive. He stank, body odor and the gut wrenching cloying stench of a man who goes at most minutes between cheap synthetic tobacco cigarettes leaping off him and it made me step back sharply afraid some of it might find purchase in my leather jacket. I loved this jacket, armoured with Kevlar inserts and tailored to me by Jaaku of Japan, a gift offered in lieu of payment by a client, and it was easily my most expensive possession.

          “You’re Etson? You’re the brain-guy?” I think he was trying to smile but instead he just leered and i could SEE it, the stench and corruption swarming across his skin, under his flesh. The only reason I didn’t bolt in horror right then was that he had work, cash, I was too poor to even pay my bar tab here.

          “Uh. Yeah, I’m the uh... brain-guy.” I wanted to reply tough and cool like I figured I should. I was in high demand, after all, I was awesome. I also responded quietly, awkwardly. I hated new people and he was creeping me out. I even brushed my hair out of my face, tucking red clumps of it behind pierced ears in a manner I knew was acutely feminine but still did without thinking. “You have what you want done? And my money?”

          He turned with a nod that was meant to make me think he was a man of action but only made me think of quivering ham, and weaved his way through the room filled to the brim with bored frat-boys and desperate salary-men, The music was everywhere, but I loved the cacophony and it gave me some solace, since the fake bitch was there on the walls too, beamed from the massive LCD screens that made up the walls. The entire place, every surface either broadcast the stage itself or had a picture of a nude woman turning beautiful sexuality and raw lust into a tawdry, oppressive product.

          He nestled back into the semi-circular booth whose table was smaller than I was used to for a restaurant, which made me acutely aware was like that so greasy men like this could have room for a “dancer” to service them. That alone made me want to spray the entire place with bleach before torching it... I had been much less heebied out when I was drunk and I resented the bartender for fucking it up. I sat on the very edge of the seat as I tried to hide how badly I wanted to get away before the rot that made up his life could get a chance to take root in my own life, infect me and drag me further down into a dark abyss.

          “You sure you can give me what I want? I’m paying for results, not just best guesses or attempts, kid.” From inside his coat he pulled a manilla file folder held shut by a red elastic band. The band sort of made me think of the little bands mom stuck on the bathroom door, and I hung onto that happy, mundane memory, and let my brain wander about why they’re colored manila, so as to keep me from seeing the now. The fact that he called me “kid” made me want to hit him, too. I was smarter than he ever could be, and just that he was more run down and had more money by virtue of sucking up to whatever boss he’d parasitically attached to didn’t make him anything. I was better than him, just poorer. “And why all this paper bullshit? A thumb drive’d be easier, kid.”

          I snatched the file folder over, flipping through it, making sure the stack of bills looked like an approximation of three thousand dollars. Ignore the fact that its damp. For the love of your sanity, ignore that its fucking damp.

          “I can do what you asked. You wanted me to analyze this and come up with a solution. I won’t promise you that I’ll pick something that makes you happy, if you want that make it up yourself.” I looked up and snapped, always pissed at that question. They figured I just made this up, or could decide what would happen. “And thumb drives are stupid. Paper’s for smart people.” I had meant that last to put him in his place, make me seem smart, which I am, but even as it came out I realized how lame it was, how weakly presented. I wanted to sound awesome, instead I sounded like a petulant kid. Great work, Etson.

          He started to respond, while I leafed through the papers and photos, making a big show of examining them in the way clients liked, made them feel I was already working. He starts to drone in the background, mumbling about “honor”, likely something he’d picked up on some mobster show, but I’d tuned him completely out, just enjoying the sense of a new job, and letting my mind wander more. I looked up and he grinned and made some point he obviously thought was earth-shattering while I wondered what sex in binary was like. Do the ones and zeros chafe?

          The stinky man is still talking when I stand and throw my bar-tab’s worth of cash down, and I can see his piggy eyes flash. He wants to shout, wants me to listen, wants me to care about what he was saying, why it mattered. he wanted to feel important to me and it pisses him off that to me, to the -kid- he isn’t. I have information he gave me, and the information is the important thing, it and me. He wants me to give a damn about his truth, and I only care about mine.

          Him, the holo-tranny’s ending set, and the corruption I can feel building around me are left behind, only the thudding of the music making it through the door as it closes, adding a soothing muffled “boomfboomf” to the parking lot. I should get that CD.

          People look at me funny, men with their girlfriends, alpha males travelling in packs, a few lonely losers tucked deep into coats desperate for female attention, and I stick out with my Ikeda deck-bag, my surplus backpack, t-shirt for some Japanese hacker bar I’d never been to and never would. I was a nerdy geek in a place that didn’t want me, and I was glad to reach my little red rice-burner and get inside. My world, my space. Now to get home and delve into the information.

Tuesday, April 17, 2012

Cyber and Punk are Dead?

I came to a realization today.  We, as people, are losing our fight to stay free, because of lolcats.  Its not a funny piece like some of my other ones, nad its political without being "political".  Give it a shot, if you don't like it I've got more fun things coming... but I felt like I needed to get this out because the world's driving me crazy.


Wednesday, April 11, 2012

This is a test post.

Exciting, I know. But I just set up a whole bunch of If This then that recipies, or tasks, or whatever they're called, and want to test them since god knows I likely fucked 'em up.

Tuesday, March 13, 2012

We're here, this is the future.

But not sure if I want to be here. Here seems to lack all the cool stuff, but have all the dystopia.

Thursday, January 12, 2012

School Begins Again!

And again my schedual leaves me with a delay in the middle of Tuesday/Thursday.. so I look forward to trying to get more writing done.

Also, one of my classes is a poetry writing class... so its possible I'll post my half-assed work here.

We'll see.

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