frame rates, stalker vision, lap dissolve
eyes cross paths with projector lights
the constant flick flick flack of analogue film stock

the beaming rays interact with dust motes
and the night, a movie shown off tree leaves
searched for and lost in deep woods

my face floats off my muscles
like smoke, zooming down and pushing into the past
through keyboards and track pads
where a million fingers arc and swoosh
and swoop and snoop, sigil’ing out real time impulse

all our probing, clicking clicking
sounds larger than anti-life as we pass
through the barrier of plastic and down
into the world of deep dark digital desire

looking up from this plane of existence
is a revelation; a sky of giant index fingers
swirling the atmosphere of circuitry
into rising, patterned storms
it is from here that we should
start the talk

jk 4/14/16