THE PAST OF THE FUTURE
We swapped minds
as the blue and magenta waters flowed
finally I was able to see from afar
inasmuch as the others could not see me
The machines began to absorb
the countryside, musicless, in the silence
of the image held by God
It was the beginning of the hallucinations
of the robot machines:
when man had stopped imagining
when his mind was absorbed by artefacts
and these new beings walked the highways,
they walked the streets, absorbing and absorbing faces
It was the uniform meta-face that created
the artificial intelligence that was stealing our faces;
soon the void would seize our bodies;
and the Meta-human Project finished
by depersonalizing the world injected with ice!.
The foretold Dexic Era was coming
now there would be no more hope: everything was ready: a militarily
organised Age, a straightline Age
("I will yawn sleepily in the capsule of lethargy")
I saw the last God
crying skyscrapers
and computers
above the laser streets
empty and mute and soporific.)
Before, we had been in such a rush
that we ended by collapsing
in coitus interruptus with
our faces covered in blue metallic blood
exploded against the penultimate galaxy.
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THE ECONOMY OF THE ERA DEXIA
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When the world President
- who was the boss of the Only World Supramarket
- spoke on its universal television
- the unipersonal Web of the Proprietary Executive of the planet Earth
announcing that "now we would have access to the interplanetary market and we would be able to do business at intergalactic level",
all of us employees, all the inhabitants of the whole planet,
lowered our heads and yawned
in front of the latest harddreamware.
But we had attacked the order of the chief
we obeyed and had to buy.
we were born ordered, we were born readymade to be controlled
without swearing or absolving ourselves.
But what colossal big business was our President doing with the Multigalactic Sperm Enterprises
Only another time we had to work and work and work and buy and buy.
The reason was always the same: it was a GOOD DEAL,
and if it was good for the president, it was good for us too.
("The anxiety to buy the new harddreamware filled us with satisfaction! "But why does the President wait so long to sign? I want to buy now, right now!.)
Produce-and-buy, simultaneously and instantaneously.
Our Golden President was our "God" (What an archaic word this was! We did not know it and we did not understand it.")
But everything was coming from the future,
Everything was going to happen so that we would happen and
Nothing more was going to happen to us.
The economic prognostications of the market
Were promises for the next two thousand years;
There was nothing to worry about.
Now advertising did not exist, It had been extinguished
in the antiquity of the postmodern world
There was a single election, the election for everyone;
the President said it,
We had to buy his wares and this would surely make us happy.
Finally, in the past, the Golden President had defeated
all competition;
Now the boss was ONLY ONE, and all the rest, all of us were his employees.
At last we were all "communists" - consumers.
(But no one knew the word communist; it had been decreed by an old man to exist in prehistory.
We were happy now; why worry, there was nothing to think about,
all that questioning; happiness was buying the wares of the President.
("We give you thanks for letting us buy")
But there was silence, a dangerous silence.
Even more, we kept buying and buying
Until the Boss of the World had a better offer and sold
Planet Earth to an intergalactic Commission -
Everyone cried anxiously when we learnt that he had gone off to another planet
with a similar cargo;
Now we would have to work for extraterrestrials.
*
When the spirit came into the machine
I left the machine
("The machines will inherit our spirits")
Before that, I met prophets who brought up nets from the sea filled with skyscrapers and cemeteries
which flew above the cities
Then afterwards, the uncivilised world civilisation abandoned the planet as unlivable and went away forever:
I am more present here in that waste, alone, alone and
the last man on Earth who has not just died died died
Brothers. Where are you?
You, the abandoned ones
In what secret vulva of heaven are the dreams of the last unconscious being kept?
Do they keep implementing the Reproduction in series?
Perhaps you inherited heaven?
Further from heaven.
They had wrapped Paradise in nylon;
I only ask: was it taken with you?
Afterwards, when at the ends of the Dexic Era
idiom ceased to be language and it was only computation,
silence stuck to the skin of the tongue like frozen sweat,
and now none spoke and none embraced any origin,
When no one feared, no one should have feared:
The World Market devoured them in pieces
And spat them out phlegmatically.
and when there was nothing left to do now in the hypermarkets,
They devoured each other
The days with their icy rubber tongues licked
The temples of the computer master,
And with nothing happening, I understood the last fulfilled prophecy:
Apostasy, in the grey tedium that everything was sleeping in.
The same silence shut up and the void dropped over the Earth
dryness of infamy;
rage and screamless pain was the character of the Wound.
the complete being was the only one that accompanied himself
The superclass had ruled the world;
afterwards, they called him Planetary President,
while they were yawning,
and the employees of the globe were divided and disunited,
isolated in the webs of their capsules.
A prophet had spoked a millennium before niche hotels;
there the one who fitted and nobody else would fit;
while the President and his global executives smiled:
such unlimited means seen to their limited ends
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