skonen_blades

When every human speaks there’s a variety of quiet:
The silence of the one who pulls the strings when there’s a riot.
The quiet of the perpetrator perpetrating theft
The stillness of the smile on the face of the bereft
The secret-keeping victims of the sexual abusers
The overcompensating winners thinking that they’re losers
The woman planning suicide who smiles to her friends.
The man who never protests but who bends and bends and bends.
Communities that cover up a crime to make it seem
Like everything is beautiful and everything’s a dream
Everyday hypocrisy and lies and scams and cons
Happening with cavemen from the stone age to the bronze
All the way to present day and centuries to come
The silences we all keep secret make our voices dumb

A cornucopia of quiet shouting us to sleep
Silences as massive as the ocean depths are deep
Secrets and denial mountains choke the very air
But ‘cause we cannot hear it we can say that it’s not there
All the voices crying out that never say a word
Deafen me and deafen you because they’re never heard.

I don’t care how smart you are. Stupid or collegiate.
My favourite human beings simply cannot keep a secret.
Language lets us hide things but it’s us who has the choice.
The truth can set us free but first we have to use our voice.



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Headfirst into the mainstream with my lawsuit buzzing, that’s the only way to do it. The cold data can stop your heart. Bright red crosses dance around me, warding off viruses that can infect my setup and make it drain others.

So I guess crosses finally work against vampires.

The pile of reflexes and soft meat back in my room smiles as the brain inside its head sees the entire world in an agreed-upon colour code.

A filter of money, information, governments and public works light up the pinball machine on the floor of the e-net worldview. Flyers like me cluster moth-like around the bright, shapely nodes. We are superheroes but there are billions of us. We are gnats in clouds buying from the neon pyramids.

How little things change. Commerce uses creativity to drive innovation. They say that necessity is the mother of invention and really, what greater necessity is there above feeding one’s self? Therefore, one invents. One invents stories. One invents tales.

One lies.

I’m here to check up on how my lies are doing. People worry about powerful viruses without realizing that the most dangerous virus of all is the most prolific; the spoken word.

A simple paragraph of text gets past all of the defenses. It’s innocuous. I sprinkle them behind my glowing sylph of an avatar as I float down to the e-street floor. They follow in my wake like phosphorescent algae behind a boat in the hardworld. They are my dandelion seeds.

My body is dying back in the meatspace. I need a new one and I need backups. I need volunteers moved by pity and motivated by greed. I need the gullible and the feeling. I need bleeding hearts in healthy bodies. I want liberals that don’t smoke to travel hundreds of miles, knock on my door, and offer themselves to me.

I need a new body every year. I have no more in the basement. I have spent over eight months realtime honing my craft.

My perfect paragraph moves, promises, affects and drowns. It twists reason with emotion to give birth to plausible reasons. It manipulates logic by employing religion. In places, it tells outright untruths.

With luck, it will make you give your body to me.

I have a week left. Cross your fingers. Wish me luck.


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