Being / Machine

enclosed in the network
i willed myself to sleep
channeled by the machine
sleeping all the time.

scenes shifted, symbols layered
disappearance, the comforts
of theory
of analysis
of infinite perspectives
(view from every angle but do not
touch)

call me naïve for proposing
that there is any real left
to touch —
“the infinite regression
into disappearance
and melancholia
is underway”

i may have once
agreed with you —
suicidal, diminished
to nothing, the world
spiraling into nothing

but software turns flesh
and protocol fails

as I write Being
without the Machine.