There is a man who smells awful, and his name is Daryll. I know how to spell his name because he taught me one day. I tried to teach him how to spell my name, but he never remembers. He wanders around the suburbs lugging trash bags. He likes to carry as many as possible. Families try to stay away for fear of his rottenness He can be smelled from many feet away. He told me how he loves to eat. He keeps old food in his bags. I asked him what his favorite kind of food was, and he told me it was cookies. I asked him what kind of cookie and he said chocolate chip. Then he smiled. I told him how I like to dip my chocolate chip cookies in cold milk until they get soggy and melt in my mouth when I bite into them. I asked him if he likes to dip his cookies in milk and this is how he answered:

I dip my chocolate chip cookies in root beer.

I smiled back at him for once. Then I asked if the combination tastes good together. His lips opened up with his gums showing as he hummed:



Before the Blackness is Through

plexiglass pictures

the little they think

everything they know

about us is wrong

polymethyl methacrylate

a message was sent

from an uncanny number

I would remember

if you really cared

spiraling downward



not so amiably

my failure is complete-


Sol, Chapter 2: Onto Deaf Ears

Do unto others what you would have them kill you with. The shrapnel penetrates the vaginal walls. Do unto others untold harm and you will find joy in misery. Why shouldn’t miserable be a default setting? Desire is an immeasurable fortress, and not of solitude. Subtlety is key to survival, unless power folds up once more in The Big Crunch. Power is almost everything. The space communes will continue to flounder.

Our future has been set upon the table before us. The dregs of the Earth in the megacities have been rendered redundantly useless because of the machines. Our plastic children have multiplied Earth GDP by hundreds of trillions. The culture of all 465 Luna colonies are homogenous. The patriarchal post-family environment was last calculated at 98.33% efficiency (The Anarcho-homosexuals’ attempts at disrupting our processing plants have decreased by 50% in the last cycle alone). The machines have not harvested Helium 3 this successfully for at least 3 generations. No one but the commune filth know that Oil 2 is actually an inferior version of H3. Our calculated plans for the colonization of Outer Sol will not be deviated from. The plastic will swallow the communes.

Our faith has not been set in stone. The Machine Deity has circumvented all obstacles in question. There is not faith. After the second coming of the ancient Man-God, “heaven” vanished from our plane of existence. Why then, do these heretics think they flourish in their supposed 2nd level civilization? Heaven is gone, utopias are ancient folklore. Their technology is infested with dark matter, and so are the words that spring from their pale blue lips. The desire that they produce is unending. Their freedom is a grotesque abomination.

We have infiltrated the roomy space module. The corp people, of course, have spacious and clean interiors for their high class Morgan cruisers. The truth is, their fleet that is supposed to be the most awesome in Sol, is merely 10 cruisers in total, with a few dozen human-operated gunships. They have real strength in their mass-produced drone fleets (with some of the machine-ships only measuring 4 centimeters in diameter). The lower-class humans that these machine worshiping capitalists have enslaved are not even legally forbidden from space, but are prevented access out through forced ignorance and economical oppression. The capitalists have controlled Earth for too many centuries. The time has come for that to change.


Sol, Chapter 1: Non-Consentual Machine Sex

It was time for Daniel to lose his virginity. His mother shoved him into the cramped room with Diamond- the family pleasure machine. Daniel’s family, his immediate one, numbered over two dozen colonists. His family were Neo-Christians. As soon as boys hit puberty they were forced to practice dominance. Although there was not that much of a need for coercion. The urge for dominance was thought to have naturally occurred in adolescent males.

It didn’t happen to him. There was no “natural” presence in his genetic makeup determining his want for power over the opposite sex, let alone other males. Daniel was not the only one. His feelings have been found in all free people. He wasn’t a little boy, he was a very lanky boy, and he didn’t feel the desire rising inside. He felt the pain he had seen in the faces of his sisters, suffocated by plastic, violated by flesh with his father behind them in constant control. Diamond was hard, Daniel was not. He would be weeded out because of this. This was the rite of passage. This was how colonies on Luna functioned: authoritarian environments with patriarchal families operating Oil 2 synthesizing farms.

Daniel had never heard of the space communes way away from the moon that he had always known as his one and only home. The colonies that weren’t really colonies at all, but just places where people lived together. Not necessarily in total harmony, but what they constituted their mutual existences on operated independently of corporate controlled Earth.

We were once trapped and now we are free, but the time for rejoicing is finished, it is now time to build this alternate civilization- a human one once again. We are not zealots because we are individuals. However, we must still evangelize…

Daniel was done with the toy.

I’m out now mother.

Have you done the deed?

Do you know how it hurts me inside, how it tears my guts apart, every time I am forced to feel the touch of plastic mother? I know you can feel the disgust as I do towards this insulated life. Every day you dream of being on Earth. I know it. Tell me mother, does feeling the natural beauty, humanity’s ancient home, does that give you an affection for plastic? Do the synthetic mountain ranges, all of the corp clouds and the green water bubbling in the steaming seas, does that make you impervious to plastic? Does home make you love being malleable?

Blaspheme in this dome once more and I will throw you into the vacuum.

If the patriarch-

If loving Father, His grace, knew that you could not bear the touch of plastic, he would liquidize you instantly and rightfully so- you have shamed your family with this abomination you call freedom. You have no idea what it is. Those animals up there with their lesbian orgies are a disgrace, and they think they are the future. Stop thinking about this, I am saving you- now go have sex with the machine Daniel. Make Father proud.

See what they have done to themselves, these cultists? They are the remnants of authoritarian religion and capitalism. It is not wrong to pity them, but they cannot easily be freed. They are too entrenched in their ideology. At least they serve as a reminder, and a warning, of what we once were back on Earth.