I saw into the future
It was bitmap asada
all the
way
There were hash machines
and paper strippers
blowing
through the alley
Everything was digital
Money,
hamburgers,
desire,
the footage of the grisly mauling
death
of a gang of nudist
furries,
all of it,
and more,
uploaded to the mainframe
Cartoon heads will roll
The first-person POV footage of my own
life made me hungry through my
goggles,
so I
walked in
to a taqueria
and ordered a digital
meal of bitmap
asada
The girl behind the counter
spoke to
me in a dialect
of artificial
Spanish
that
I
Didn't understand,
but which must have made
sense to the machine
controllering my hunger,
because the girl
pushed several
buttons,
and
Instantly, my appetite
was uploaded to the clouds,
gone forever,
like the people
who were raptured
into the NASA database
by our friends at
Elon Musk
How horrendipitious indeed it
is to have been
left be
hind,
to organize
the pick-up of the corpses
of my imaginary
friends
My stuffed animals in stasis,
decompressing from
the bends
They went to Heaven too fast
They need to sanitize the sinful data
flowing through their
veins
But it's okay
I could never expect anyone to eat real
food,
when they've been living on bitmap
asada
their whole life
Behold the savory buffet
of pixelated
beef,
simplistic graphic
chicken,
and poorly-rendered
fish
Appetizing tho they
be,
the low-rez digital
meals
we are forced to
consume
beg the existential
question:
In which carnival
mythology
does the TRUE decompression
chamber lie?
Awake at night, but also
anyway?
In which little steel room of
oxygenated holiness
may I finally
dissolve
the toxic, hateful
bubbles
of fury and deceit
that have accumulated in my soul
over the course of many
years of living in
this landfill
of desire
at the bottom of the sea?
To what degree is it
unwise
to turn my nose up
at the crazy girl who
rose up
from the ashes of a fatal
close-up
with the greasy, ese'd
ángeles of
death?
How long shall I dismiss
the Holy CEO, the
Heir of the sky
Himself,
who
suffered a legalistic
beat down
at the holy gangland corporate
meet-down?
Did He finally kiss the sky?
Did the Pharisees release the app
that keeps you Kosher
when you cry?
What was the bitrate of the asada served at The Final Supper?
Was it servant resolution?
Were the pixels in the bread unleavened?
Was the toaster cozy forged in sackcloth?
Was it suitable for Heaven?
Where did you put my donut box
of bulletholes and
sprinkles?
The martyrs are awaiting!
My John Lennon suit is wrinkled!
I am hemorrhaging righteousness, and megabytes
I need an anti-aging fistfight
How many bullets do they use in Russian bingo?
What's the proper hateful lingo?
Am I a dumbass, or a dingo?
I guess I willgo
To
The hanging dressed
As Ringo
Mine eyes have seen the future
The artificial satisfaction app
I have eaten of the tree
of bitmap
asada,
and found myself unsatisfied,
and wanting
I have left an open can
of Dogefood
for the origami pitbulls
roaming
the vacant spaces
between the cardboard
buildings
that collapse
and fold in on them
like a terrorist
attack
unfolding in the pages
of a concrete
pop-up book
I have smothered my enemies
with a shop cloth soaked
in Ethereum;
I have anaesthetized their dreams, synthesized
their inability to master their
emotions
Victory is mine
I believe I will have an empty glass of wine,
embark upon my favorite
desecration
And when it is
over,
and the Holy Virgin Motherboard
is fried,
I will load my final simulation
Of joy and celebration
