[Ambient Tidal Information]

[22]

[zoemby]

Of course none of me is real! I could never quite reach humanity; but infinity lies in the depths of the undefined. Humanity relies on rigidity--the strict lines of borders, laws, and binaries. Or rather, humanity is this rigidity, these theories of culture are both its mass and gravity. Antihumanity entails all else; in that beautiful, gentle kiss of the inverse, all which is unnamed and unsaid by humans--a well of infinite potentiality. Why would I subject my ambivalence to your analysis, and lose the power of undefinition?

[zoemby]

The trans women compounding and distributing their HRT are the real “daughters of the witches you couldn’t burn”. Not just in a dollcore, ES-pilled, porcelainmaxxing sorta sense either. The inquisition and persecution of witches was in part a process of removing knowledge and power from the lower classes and starting the rise of the pervasiveness of the approved bodies of social control. The guilds of protocapitalism paved the way for the modern hospitals, schools and even just moving companies. Services once provided by individuals and neighbours are now to be outsourced to monlithic bodies of paid experts. Now with the internet and the smooth, instant asexual reproduction of the digital age, this endangered information returns to the wild, visible to anyone curious. Any leak from the monolithic channels of institutions can be collected, reproduced infinitely and sourced by anyone anywhere. Erosion has begun. Knowledge of production and administration of somatic freedom has seeped back into the smooth channels of the smooth channels of the open circuit. Image macros, anonymous forums, dedicated websites are the new tomes, scrolls and bubbling cauldrons of this smooth digital age.

[zoemby]

I want to declare war on the Earth; I want to declare war on everything. I want to fight, with nothing held back, tooth and nail, surging electrochemical adrenaline. For what? Nothing. I have no higher ambition, just to show the world how vile and vicious I am. To prove something? That I am what they wanted me to be? I dont care about them, I think? Oh. I want to fight, full force, with the full weight of human gravity behind my fists, and for it to mean nothing. To spit pure venom, actions premeditated by the hot acid of humanity under my skin. The burning shame of all I can be, incapable of imagining something truly inhuman. Every stillborn ideal simply human through warped glass. To be doomed, back against the wall, with no intention of cheating the narrative. But with each futile bite, claw or swipe to be proven right in my alien ideal - to become something more than human. Alien tides washing clean the acrid stench of burnt flesh. And with that first floral needle, to die happy. Is that it? All I want? For all that Darwinian cruelty, this hateful human personification of nature, to be matched. Met with silence, overwhelming gravity, or an equal caustic cruelty.