POETRY OF SCIENCE FICTION
by Mauricio Otero
LASER POEM X-Q-2.000 MHZ
Maybe the laser rays are not the hairs of God?
Diskette eyes equalised by the soul of the lost drug
beloved of the prophet of crucial time
The poetry of God is a cause
that God, in men, has lost!
The echoes of his magenta wings make the golden eyes of the sun
We are so together, that we are so alone in the galaxy!
The phosphorescent sperm - rivers of the Creator - takes the finest DAT from the eggs of mad Goddesses
In hitch-hiking sky-scraping passion
Earth does not exist any more; it ejected the injected men
Who now travel and travel without beginning or end
The program of the Web did not think about them except as just one more
There are no individuals; we are ONLY ONE and the truth is that without imagining it we all imagine the emetic NOTHING!
It is God vomiting up beings dead from dread and worry!
The word is no more than a sign of death and abandonment!
The very trumpets are the same laser rays that wiped us out
Crushing the heart!
Now no-one beats, no one feels; the void is the new Leader
All the excretions of men are not from the man!
Do you have the new formula to explode the hyperatom of the Universal
Yes, you are indifferent to death and the blood boiling in the radioactive quarks!
The new death is birth, and all will be mercilessly born to suck the Aids-ridden nipple of the virgins prostituted by Pain
That is the reason why, the new Muse of exoneration
Without good or evil, pragmatic in the request to offer foreskins and hymens for disarrangement.
There you have plastic between the legs of Pavlovia;
Its impersonal "its" is unfeeling.
The postmodern orgasms of the modern era died
at the hands of the manomania of the new prophets of groggification.
"Do it without anybody realising!".
NOBODY, that's the name of the new king of disimpassioned passion:
Oh yes a SUPER NOBODY salesman with the highest ratings.
And after the show that shows nothing more? SLEEP!
Hooray for us the anti-absentees of the world, disunited!
We are the heroes of all the lost
We are lost with the loss of the lost!
Now there will be no child
Who gets lost in the enchanted forest after the party!
Thousands of years earlier, the last adolescent asked:
"Dad, what is a forest?" "I DON'T KNOW" he replied!
The sun had dried out his lungs
When everyone thought (what is that?) - that nothing would have an ending
Everyone had it;
Even the desire to eat ended: they had to inject themselves: to take soma yawning with the re-soundings of love.
Who, finally, is the one who speaks? "ME"? I AM NOBODY!
AND NOBODY IS NOT NOTHING!.
A house kisses a trembling
The swords of fire of their tongues are laced together;
the sexual organs of the contemplative multitude are burnt
moaning voices are plastered to the walls
glances are drunken
In the middle of a repulsive show
But we still don't stop feeling
in the atmosphere of destiny
in the contrast of every window
of the house and the building
marvellous phantasms are lowered down
They laugh at the matter of the inhabitants,
Uninhabiting the rusted space that smokes the dead with emptiness.
House and building have ended
the plastic capsule will arrive that will place the panorama of the old crowds
- who have no consciousness now - in the burial niche
and dreams if perhaps we do dream -
will be a chain: when one awakes all will awaken
a single dream split single in the polythene.
and the laser will keep weaving beaming the diminutive space
Of sensual brains (in the past).
We will receive each day our desserts
And we will give thanks to our father, the Genetic Engineer of the last seasons
It will be the end of human architecture!.
The laser wind
while I was drinking laser water
kneeling on a wild neon beach
there was a timer that did not discover such a primitive place
because of that, that afternoon
already swinging between stimulants and morning sedatives (I did not feel what the old ones called tiredness)
came to my (side)
and gave me a sentient quantum
in MIDI language
and went to the capsule to find my old notebook-video
to record these feelings not feelings
in the quartz
once we returned
to the compact-mother
we sensuated in a country side of liquid crystal -
Just before we reconnected to part-time sex
the psychotropics of midnight
finished by erasing my brain's last program;
and everything seen was now not seen
and everything felt not felt.
I arrange all my atoms
and transfer them to your body
with a sword, burning
for your feelings
bathed in your bionic soul:
the brains of the belly shine,
reminding us of failed sex
The liquid quartz of my body
bathes the chips of your brain
the quarks prick the square of your programmed mind.
and I do not stop digiting your name,
All my atoms are automating
your body, tuning you
to my diskette, and without switching
off your beautiful shining laser hair.
Each atom has to reproduce me in you
But, OK, I don't erase the memory
of what you reproduced of yourself in
my own program - break up -
And I penetrate your breast with
my tongue magnetised by cool atoms!.