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A chaotic landscape of new language. Words crossed out become strong enough to explode. A challenge, this cybernetic form like Shakespeare, inventive and striking. Fleshis.tics, an erotic mo[ve]ment, a roll of the code. I am getting overtaken by square brackets. The question at the bottom of the scroll bar r u cur[e].i.ous? and yes, I am, I am in a hurry to control and master these strokes, these unconventions. Some of the links won’t work. Is this part of the design r u paranoid?

I want to break her coded terms and become unhinged. With Man, bi[y]tes of dating pain and seduction, SHOT, a pulsing target of pump-started action jampacked with wor[d]ks to explore. A disgruntled book of wizzdums is, like gashgirl, infused with blood and anger where women become“frisking corpses that will leave plastic fragments in the ground”, voluptuous words of spite and pleasure:

If I am lucky I will be empty, void;
and get a job - from 9 to
5, get married, screw
barmaids and abuse my
children like everyone [expired]
Feline. Click on her animal eyes, exotically tattooed in leopard markings and enter the grrrls own zone, signposted by primitive drawings and spiritual messages and z’s instead of s’s. Wordz and wit (mmm…) with some nice techy stuff; as you pass your mouse over the poet, the name appears, hovering, insubstantial. Poetry includes Holly Day’s frigid, words over chiaroscuro light through fractured window, streams into stereotype, and Susan Jenvey’s On the Shortest Day, realaudio and sound effects about pain and isolation. There’s not much text online yet; only 3 prose pieces, 2 by the same writer Karen Boulay. Too Late, her affectionate hymn to the anally retentive, has an effective blocked rhythm, the splash of routine. My mouse starts to get twitchy around any section called Mind, Body and Spirit. That new-agey, chakra-healing, re-birthing, go-with-the-flowing means content as dull as a hippie kid’s lunchbox. And believe me, I know.
The Company Therapist. Welcome to Dr Charles Balis’ comfy couch. If you can’t wait the week to visit Dr Katz, or if your own therapist charges a hundred bucks an hour, check yourself in for a daily dose of psychobabble. (Not suitable for hypochondriacs or avoidance personality disorders.) Daily transcripts, weekly updates of filing cabinet contents, patient files—that delicious feeling you are spying, ransacking the sock drawer for clues, evidence, even medication. Will Alex continue to be stalked by Regina? Will Katherine find her father in Alaska? Will Herb ever get over his drug addiction? Will the identity of The Anonymous Faxer finally be revealed?

I’m sorry, your time is up for today…

RealTime issue #27 Oct-Nov 1998 pg. 16

© Kirsten Krauth; for permission to reproduce apply to [email protected]

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