I. Aleric’s Anodyne

I’m in a groove with Barry White’s Greatest Hits when I get a preprogrammed hit from SM-N900V. So as the Love Unlimited Orchestra swells to Barry’s “I love you, baby!” the Heliotrope unit beeps and a shot of SM-N900V’s love tincture hits my bloodstream.

I don’t care that it’s only the essence of Clementine coming through my cryoscreen, but Clemmie, as the artificial intelligence known as SM-N900V is referred to, is all I need of my life partner to see me through the next three hours on this sterile dying planet.

As her essence reticulates through my nervous system, I see her inside my retinas; smell her in my temporal lobe; feel her on my fingertips — her chest against mine…

The overseer counts: “one minute to go!” And it’s out the nearest exit in case of emergency—break glass in case . . .

II. Full of Goat Flakes

I’ve met the señora with charming daughters. I’m a mustachioed superhero bandido of fritos and fries—a speedy gonzalez typic-stereo imbiber of fire.

Desire.

I’ve got nothing but blues in my jumping bean boxes. Pouring 100 words out of my clenched sphincters—pores clogged and chugging. I’ve got the drudgery groove (mustache optional).

I’ve got the jangly, janky, guitar strum preceding me no matter the room I enter. I’ve got a glitter chain sunk on my sternum tuft. I drift with the dust—on the high plains, with the snaking bassline.

Low—full of goat flakes.

(What could go wrong?)

What I’m Reading:

“My kink is a copless land where no one hoards anything.”

— Jordan Kapono Nakamura / “Interview”