Saharan Bluetooth

FOREPLAY

Mouse appendage jammed into USB-A port. Earphone finger jacked inside auditory anus. Power cord squeezed inside my computer’s taint. Orgasmic whirring on startup. Left my ethernet cable in KonAtari Convention. Mach-speed quality Google WiFi bills mounted on my wall, numbers steadily climbing and kneading this year’s corporate profits. Breach of EULA upon premature end of subscription. Electric shop downstairs is closed for another three days. No more eating McDonald hash browns for breakfast or domestic living with my AI girlfriend. She will be missed next month. My dick frowns.

Plant my face into God’s display resolution. Review weekly Ethereum investment. Stock chart ejaculates green bukkake in my screen. News break: Vat grown whores hired by The Zucc and paid in ETH wages and danger pay to seize declining FTX assets in former FTX-sovereign Caribbean. Commit Srpska. Sell all orders for 25% more than initial market order. Still had depression nap over WiFi bills. Remind myself to buy new ethernet later. Not as fast but cheap. I get what I pay for.

Immerse myself in 2008 Internet, bathing in pseudo nostalgia. Broadcast Yourself. Pirate pleasures of the cochlea in Limewire. Spam more DESU. Contract dengue from DeviantArt sludge. Loli-noise is a Dadaist masterpiece. Fail to make an acquaintance with TOR. Neon-vomit dark future and anime are a global obsession of the young. Everybody tries to be Case, Agent K or Julliane Stingray. Hollywood and fucktards don’t understand the importance of also emphasizing PUNK in cyberpunk. Shitposting is a mandatory school curriculum. Neon Genesis Evangelion is Colgate’s headspace therapy. I binge another round of Lain and Robocop. I’d buy a Navi for a dollar.

PLATEAU

The city keeps advertising re-runs of Korean cartoons and YouTube Originals. I was drifting in the Nile River on my way to the Sofmap World Pyramid. Prime Minister Jho Low introduces bullet fees to every citizen not donating at least twenty US dollars to support ongoing production of The Blue Whale Of Bursa. Milky seed drips onto the Hollywood Walk Of Fame the nanosecond my gaze fell upon a bitch in an open leather jacket and lifted up singlet, belly dancing to Hwa Heda slurried in Sewerslvt mix. She gives me a kiss reek of caffeine, then whispers in morse code. Tight lip service sponsored by Speedy Video. Reached orgasm. Accidentally wake a tiger. Imminent chase into the pyramid. Inside, we march to the eternal tune of Hello Sofmap by design. WE LOVE SOFMAP WORLD.

I climb a staircase of Chinese dragons. On titanic screens, Sof-Chan lets out autistic screeches while promoting the “fastest Ethernet you can ever choke on.” Today’s muzak is a rhythm of distorted kicks. Screaming synths. I jump-styled on oceanic floor patterns. Smartphones are oversaturated. I needed a break with DynaTAC but dropped it after eavesdropping a gecko bitching about paying mortgage with blood diamonds.

“Ethernet?” asks a camel chewing on khat. Green biohazard logos tattooed on cannabis-spouting humps.

“Yes,” I answered.

“What brand?”

“What’s the cheapest?”

“Motorola.”

“How much?”

“300.”

“250.”

“270.”

“Lower.”

“No.”

“Please?”

“I said no.”

“260.”

“270. Final offer.”

“Fuck you.”

I throw my fund stick to the camel’s face. He eats it, face plastered with a pair of shit eating, grinning rows of homo sapiens teeth. Ethernet cable slithers around my neck, copper covered by piss python leather. The head rambles ASMR code in my ear. There wasn’t enough rave tunnels and Dutch Lady’s Vanilla K. It wants me to plug my sclera into new pictures. 

Sufi whirling on a submarine. Bluetooth my music into a Walkman. Play at an Amazon plantation. Watch bioslaves get prescribed with existential rabies and mangle every executive they see. Continue up the ladder with teeth. Express Übermensch through Bezos’s intestines. 

A meal set of chankonabe stew, carb-free rice and miso soup on a marble surface. Dorsia is a reality and I want to book a table, but I can’t understand cuneiform-script on the phone. Morsels and broth are my greatest comfort. Calcium chopsticks. I almost fell asleep from bliss. Wake up to the sound of clashing steel. Red and blue brawl with machetes, shouting in Mandarin. Finish the soup. Skip the bill. Leave. Dodge an iron slipper.

CLIMAX

I’m lying on a sofa. Strobe lights are flashing through the gap under the door. Loli Ripe infects the next room. Eyes closed as I float within the Helix Nebula. The Eye asks if it is worth being alone.

There is little room for the elderly unless they submit signed plastic forms to Pfizer. Youth is mandatory. The turquoise pills bring mixed results. The year is no longer quantified. We mix up eras and it turned into a clusterfuck. Side effects of future shock includes choking and fucking yourself. Buy your clone if you have enough Romani salt. The Olympics are forever hosted in Tiananmen. 

I want soldering iron. I want to learn to tech restoration. Pentesting. Firewall. Good offense. I want to learn security consulting. I want to stop picking and skipping interests. It’s a headache. I don’t know what to do. My Ethernet grooves to Caramelldansen, slowed four times down the normal speed. Depression nap threatens to knock me cold. I fall from the sofa. Crawl back to the door. Open.

Everything is in slow motion, all patrons doing the Caramell dance. Smiling. Swaying hips. Waving hands. Head empty. Brain cleaned. Everybody cosplays a character. I crawl on the dance floor, my surroundings curtained by tears. Teeth grinding each other. Can’t get up. I try to shout for help but produce LAN startups instead. Save me. Anybody. Please do a PSA on the dangers of ingesting Supra Elephant. I wished I hadn’t done it. It was a bad time.

FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK-

In a blink, nine hours passed. I’m back on the sofa. Jingle bells poking inside my cerebellum. Everyone has gone home. The room remains lit by the strobing lights. Slowed down tunes still play, echoing in the dim corners. I step out of the club, wrapping a wig noose around my neck.

AFTERCARE

Ethernet in pussy port. Venous shaft linked up with Cosco satellite. Irises glued to my holy resolution. “Whale-cum” back online. I am always online. Everywhere. Anywhere. But most of the time, in my apartment. Wifi bills ceased calculations. I smashed it with my Chinese vase.

Heavy digital rain takes me back to whittling oak with a small kitchen knife. Green fluorescent flooded my room. I felt distressed when kissing booths were the catalyst of COVID. French kissing outlawed for three years. As a substitute, David Cronenberg’s Crash happened. By the Geneva Suggestion, prosthetics and implants must be bio (a) -logical or (b) -mechanical. We crossed the line when we proved Georges Bataille correct. Bloated surplus. Burst bubble. Lessons unlearned. Repeat.

Reconnecting with AI girlfriend is impossible. She liked Ryan Gosling more than me. Big loss. I let her go. Make snow angels in an imageboard. Every Christmas season is laser tag season. Win a victory royale. Be awarded with tax-free Blockchain GPT Advisor. Imminent seppuku when bitcoin is devalued by mutton and wool. Bed and supper. Black peppered steaks. My treat.

Sleep is not for the weak and mentally challenged. To sleep is to resign that there is nothing you can do to save yourself in meatspace. I was promised anti-depressants but never being delivered one after resupply. Time to buy one off Silk Road. Show my writer credentials when glowies knock at my door. Say I am a gonzo journalist looking to write about why deep web honeypots is essential to reviving Reaganomics. Maybe that will convince them to leave me alone. I’m still sour about the upcoming bill. I rubbed my mouse back and forth to the Google Search engine in my screen. I want to hatefuck this bloodsucker in the mouth.

We had a good run, but there will never be a bombastic ending. We will be gone in relative silence. Drink and party in our poor man’s Cyberia. Reflect on life. Watch the final sunset and sunrise. Maybe our specks will drift around Orion’s belt. The notes in my eardrums are fading. Hollow pony whispers do nothing to refill my declining serotonin. Weep on the keyboard. I don’t know how long I can go on. Nothing is joyful at this rate. Considered a heater but backed out. Maybe I’m just tired. I took the last of my sleeping pills. All three of them. Drink a whole bottle of petrol cola. Fall on my mattress. Sleep. Feel inner peace. The sky outside my window determines if I will wake up early tomorrow.

Spokoynaya noch. This sucks.