quinta-feira, 30 de agosto de 2012

Channel Sk1n

Evelyn was dressed as a New Model Robot Romantic type. It was a fashion, the ersatz automated look, something she had read about in a Lifestyle magazine. She had started the evening in expert character, but by now, with this many drinks running her veins, her robotic traits were slipping. (p. 129)

Globewise: eyes are dazzled bright
as fingers click and tap
in motion to the
data dance.
(p. 150)

‘It’s a viral infection taking over human flesh. But a virus not of any known organic nature. One made from the ether, itself.’ (p. 160)

‘We have flooded ourselves with the media in all its many forms. Our minds are now open to signals. We have become aerials.’ (p. 161)

She was trying to control the waves of transformation, failing, klxckz, falling, failing, zxttixkt, turning her flesh into a total body-surface chaos pad. Overload of pictures, flash cuts, faces, legs, pistols, car chases, weather reports, crashing seas, bombs exploding, young lovers kissing, hands on flesh, maps, planet Earth from space rotating with the moon in tandem, that kiss again, zkxixkc, all of her bodily screen streaming different signals and downloads, a sonic visual mess, complexity, her skin burning now, sweat covered. Nola was lost in each moment as it flowed along the listings of her flesh, tissue melting with noise and colour and dampness, veins flooded with image, clikxzk, her mind soft like stars, haze filled: static pulse shadow, ache of muscle, mains hum, ignition, fizz, zclick, zzhhmmmxt, xklikc, zlick, ckiclk, cxzcikcz. (p. 144)

Jeff Noon (2012). Channel Sk1n.

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