Reintro by Ray Ogar

>>> COPYRIGHT 2004

self split.
should i return?
uncertain, now that 911 has forced us all into new constellations of precision word usage.
my tech is still thawing.
at the moment i am using one hand to do what usually takes two--stroking those braille keys the heretic always told me about.
turning back.
over my shoulder.
i must tell you all,
a piece of raw code broke into my apartment today.
it is still sitting on the wood floor.
part of it is sunk into the new wax coat, like diatoms saturating out of toothpaste.
i could see a few vectors crawling out,
it was scanning the room for an information perch.
of course it acted more like a broken video game from the 80s.
then it began assembling itself, right there,
on the floor.
aggravating certain molecules near it into new threads of technology.
i laughed,uncertain.
i think at one point it might have whined at me like a puppy.
not furry though.
this beast.
this raw code.
was more like a military drone, compacted, pocket size.
256 shades of gray minus 1.
it was mostly just abstract planes with massive amounts of the new dithered camouflage aesthetic i saw at the last MIT design conference.
i foolishly picked it up.
and it rested like a ladybug on my knuckle.
whenever i did try to shake it off the code would restabilize on my hand, always reorienting laterally with the floor.
it was using me like a gyroscope uses the earth.
some of its structure began to sink into my pores.
so i moved to the kitchen and it began to sense i was going to take a terminal action.
it slippped off before i took action.
and then it cascaded more than moved back to its original position on the floor.
so i leave it and turn back to see if my old tech has finally thawed.
it is something i will need if i am going to jump back in to the internet life.
perhaps i will play for a moment?
the tech can wait.
back at my computer i pick up the monitor veil and drape it over my head so that it covers my face, including nose and mouth.
i sit back,
typing one handed.
i think i hear goobs, and certainly ghost is there in the background--
the veil translates everyone's text into the voices i have chosen for them.
you all sound like a hive eliciting the praise of a newly self organized strange attractor.
i debate whether i should lurk or actually coalesce into a form
i hear a knock.
i remove the veil and turn around.
the piece of raw code is still thrashing on the floor.
and the front door to my apartment slowly turns red.