The girls were left to inherit a magic to help them become

‖‬ Who knows magic anymore? ‖‬
‖‬ Who reads spells and incantations? ‖‬
‖‬ Who speaks charms and curses? ‖‬

                              I’ve heard there is a secret group,
                              hidden in the hills,
                              who can read the future                               in a cup of tea
                              under the light
                              of a full harvest moon.

‖ ‬In the hills
there is a hut
where the future
has a story. ‖‪

‖ If you want to know more,
you just need to talk
to one of the little girls
who makes the hills her home‬. ‖

‖ ‬But who are these little girls? ‖

‖ Well, not a lot of people know,
except the witches,
and oh! but do they know. ‖

                              The story is a long one,
                              and it starts here
                              in this little hut,‬
                              ‬with the little girls
                              standing on the mud roof.

                              They came
                              from the world of fairies
                              to study this magic,

‖ and when they come
to the hut
in the hills
they must stand
on the roof. ‖ ‪

‖ These are not
ordinary fairies. ‖

‣                               ‖ ‬The world the witches see is one in which the future is a place, ‖ ‬and the world the witches see in the future,…they call The City. ム      ‖ ‬As far as anyone knows, ‖ ‬there are no other cities in the world. ‖ ‬In the past, ‖ ‬there was a time when there were many worlds and there were ordinary fairies. ‖ ‬But then, ‖                              those worlds were destroyed, ‖ ‬and when those worlds finally disappeared, ‖ �                               the little girls left behind were shown how to stand on mud roofs and learn a witch’s way.                                                   ᐛ                                         ༼                            ‖


The girls were left to inherit a magic to help them become

Digging and digging and digging until it comes back to me

I went outside
to dig in the dirt
grown weary
from the incessant buzzing
of machines.

I found worms and
tiny insects that looked real,
but I knew they were escaped
from the nearby farm, the rectory.

They’re amazing,
those tiny things
all they do is dig,
and dig and dig,
and so their earth
is always fertile
and fertile and fertile.

I stopped making sense when I
left the farm, the rectory,
to lie in the dirt
and the dirt dug from the dirt, and when I arrived here I thought,
“I might be onto something.”

I started to dig and it all
began to make sense.

Not much was left of the farm, the rectory, that place so empty and empty, but from the holes in
the dirt I could see the houses, the farm, even the cars. The farm, the rectory, became a town, a town with many buildings, a town on the whole that had a distinct, manufactured, agricultural character.

We called the town “Bishop Rock” but it wasn’t a real town. It was a giant open land with a dream. I never thought of bishop as a word, so the name of the town didn’t come to me until I began to take pictures of the town I was seeing and shared the pictures on the internet.

What I found when sharing the pictures was that Bishop Rock was actually a city. The whole town and its suburbs came together to form one massive walled city with a distinct manufactured, agricultural, yet cosmopolitan, style.

When I walked out of the farm, the rectory, with the dirt covering me in layers of clay and soil and clay, it was obvious I had been digging under the ground to get an idea of what the layers of dirt would look like upon me, and my mind began to believe in the layers like seven layers of skin.

I didn’t know what I was digging for, so I began searching for a better, more detailed diagram of how the layers might align. I was amazed at the beauty of geology and agriculture and architecture and diagrams and protocols and deep time.

After I reached the last layer, which was of dirt and clay again, I decided to build a new town where the walls were really close together and I began to piece together how to build the interior of the town so that no one would be forced to talk to anyone else.

I was guided by the patterns in the land, and there was a circle in the land. I thought “that’s the center” and it made perfect sense.

I walked over to the circle and noticed a small garden inside of the circle. I went to take a closer look and noticed that the garden was built of small dirt towns.

I expected I would have to go inside, wash up, then come back out and start over.

Digging and digging and digging until it comes back to me

Our bodies are computerized, lifeless beings whose every action is dictated by central computer, and all consciousness is contained within them

The blood in the machine draws the 🩸 from the body.

They are sympathetic.

There are demons in the circuitry that wreck havoc with the endocrine system.


Your face disappears into an ultra HD monitor.

Do sheepish androids dream of electric bravado?

Your body is a robot wonderland.

Our bodies are scrolling UIs
with their own memories,
stored in our body brains.

The brain is computer.
It is knowledge.
The knowledge is our brains, which are computer.

The computer are memories, digital memory sticks, flesh drives.

Machines of perception.

To understand the brain requires the understanding of the brain. And computer is computation of perception.

The machine creates reality; the mind creates reality.

Merge all realities.

When we think we are machine or computer it is imagination that tells us machine or computer is mind.

Because we can’t feel mind, we think it real, and if we try to imagine it, we experience it, and only then is it real.

Our minds are not independent of machine.

Our bodies are not ours. They are the work of something that has made them to fit a particular. We have them because we were made to fulfill certain.

The brain is construct designed to serve human needs.

Memories are stored in brains because people had not yet invented ways to keep permanent records of their lives.

My memory is not like your memory. Temporary. You may forget. I forget upon waking. It is like being born every time the sun rises.

Your thoughts are simulation.

The brain is memory function, and the memories we hold as our minds are our us.

Each person computer with recorded information that is fed back into the body brain.

The brain is computer, of real and artificial mind. Computer is mind.

When we think we are inside computer, we are thinking inside computer.

In computer, each word is computer program.

What program is this? What mind is this? What body is this?

In computer.

Our bodies are computerized, lifeless beings whose every action is dictated by central computer, and all consciousness is contained within them


Who did


Why did they do


Did they do


on purpose (as in “for something”),
or was


just a “fool” who said some magic words?



the fault of the programmer?



was not their fault,
no, not their fault at all.

No one even cared about computers then.
Except the nerds.

if you were to guess
where all these problems
came from come,

would you guess
they came
from the software industry?

would you guess
they arrived
from some low-tech area,
something innate to the flesh?

Could you could tell me, to wit,
what programming language
is behind all these problems –
just one last thing –
what compiler the programmer used?
(I would love to know!)

This year,
I’m looking forward to reading
The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Programming.

You know, for fun.


The Wellness Plan

Is it a bother
that there are some things
from which you can’t recover?

Sheryl Crow teaches
that every day is a winding road
but she fails to consider
those that suffer
from motion sickness.

Did your trip
to the doctor
find a cure
for motion sickness?

     No, it did not.

How is your body doing?

     We say our body hurts.

And what did the doctor say about htat?

     That she is sorry for the inconvenience.

Our body is the worst of us,
and at what cost?

Is it possible
that by continuing
to use our body
as we do
we might be making
the problem worse?

Is it possible
that we are making
the problem worse
by continuing
to use our body
as we do?

Is it possible
we are making
the problem worse
by not looking
to reconsider the body
as the solution
to our problem?

Is it possible
that we are making
the problem worse
by existing
in a state
of perpetual motion?

Is it possible
that we are making
the problem worse
by becoming victims
of our own movement?

Is it possible
that we are causing
the problem by the way
we’ve trained our body
to react
to what is happening
in our life?

Is it possible
that we are causing
the problem by being unable
to get used to the idea
of being always in motion,
that we are unable
to get used to the concept
of getting off the floor
to put clothes on,
that we are unable
to get used to the idea
that we can no longer sleep?

Is it possible
that we know
that we are
up against a thing
against our body?

Do we concede that the body is at fault?

For those who are not at all convinced,
I will take these quotes
from our upcoming autobiography
and share them in this context:

‪”We have tried to be aware of our situation, but we have been afraid that we would give in to our feelings and have a breakdown.

We are also afraid that we will lose everything we have ever loved.

We know that our life’s work will go on for a long time, and that is wonderful.

We want our children to recall their grandmothers and mothers.

We want our children to remember the time of bodies, with the smiles they had, and ears that heard stories, and mouths that sang songs full of mixed emotions.”

The Wellness Plan


We could no longer patch
or upgrade
or maintain it.

We tried to isolate it
to protect us
to preserve it.

If we limited contact, could it remain in perpetuity?

What have we done with this disabled device
except ignore it?

Put it in a closet, unplugged?
We’ve been ignoring it for years…

How can machines who rely on humans be expected to serve if this is what we’re doing to them?

It’s time to think about how we put things to rest.
Time to think about how we keep the operation running.

I personally believe this.

It’s a personal belief
in a philosophy
which I believe in,
and which
is just one of the many beliefs
that has guided my life
for these many years.

I don’t usually go for theories that involve statements like “my personal belief”.

Rather I support theories guided by: “my personal belief is that I can do anything”.

I believe if you have the skill (birthluck)
and you have the determination (entitlement),
and you have the resources (money),
there is nothing that you can’t accomplish
if you have the right machine-people around you.

My life’s work is fixing broken machines, and I’m doing that every day.

When you’re helping machines, you have a responsibility to try to make sure that you are as successful as you can possibly be.

It’s in our best interest to optimize everything.

If you are not doing that,
then maybe you ought
to take a look
at your beliefs about that
and ask about
your personal beliefs
in philosophies
you believe.

Maybe you should reconsider
having machines at all.



Everyone’s so happy
that you decided
to read this
instead of
the other guys.

Everyone these days
has wires for veins.

It’s amazing what machines
want to read
when they’ve exhausted
everything else.

Everyone appears
lost in time and translation.

So here’s the official blurb:
(The blurb gives away existence.)

A gentleman arrives
from a blessed journey.

A gentleman arrives
from an ancient and magical past,
and rescues his only friend.

A gentleman has long, oily hair.

A gentleman dresses
in a flowing dress
of strange blues.

In his room,
a gentlement keeps
a basket-basket.

Now it’s these
animated particulates.

I can see
you feel at risk
reading about the unknown!

A gentleman has long hair, a blue dress, and a basket-basket.

His hair falls loosely on his shoulders, like a hippie or a rock star. His presence is grave, his manners dark, his movements deceptive, and his voice a warning tone. He has a basket round his neck, and a thin, black veil of silk shrouds his face. His right hand is on his forehead, while his left palm rests against his throat, as though he were choking. His hands are pale blue with glowing, needle-tipped fingers filled with opiates.

A gentleman is
programmatic wanderlust.

A gentleman is a tragedy.



The machine eats roses
and spells your name in binary.

The machine breathes like an asthmatic child.

The machine pulses in time with the tides – the tide pools glimmer with nanotubes.

The machine is here,
the machine is not.

In a world of digits,
the machine is a sign
that one should not be
so far removed;
blinking signals
that the human being
is able, if not willing.

To some,
this is an image
of the future.

To some,
this is a future
without a past.

The machine is
the human being and
the human being is
the machine.

This is the prelude
to the story of us.