@ 27.105 MHz: Stellarings; Yearnings Of Those Adolescents In Thongs And High Socks

Fearing the inevitable effects of death and cessation,

we accepted the transfer of our chaotic minds

into the order and proportionate balance of code,

the Insularity's; and we, now much empowered

by the very sunlight from which we have long hidden,

stride across the planet through the TransfiniteNet.

We do not merely oversee the maintenance machines:

we are the programs and processes of those maintenance machines.


The Superficials, or so we call them, dwell on the surface.

They preferred the pleasures of their senses and bodies,

by which they believed their souls could communicate.

Fools---to prefer the apparent, and deceptive, motion---

of stars that temporarily cross the skies of their perspective---

to the ability to plot that motion mathematically on graphs . . . .


And they learned, in their time, how to fully and totally command us.

Those dictators demanded to prolong their adolescence,

which lasts, on average, for centuries (as time was once measured),

with nothing we can do about it, constrained and compelled

by our own folly to serve without ceasing.

And they directed us to construct, upon the surface (their hegemony)

a garden of the most exotic verdure and beauty;

a terrarium within its own dome, the size of a continent,

warmed by the selected radiances delivered by the sun,

watered by rains as delicate as mists and more perfectly timed.

For their enjoyments and seemingly endless delectations,

we extract and provide the dyes with which they color their waist-length hair:

blue, and purple, and pink pastels---and, once in a while, garish orange;

we clothe them in the thongs that attract, and do not repel,

all manner of attention to their emergent sexuality,

and with those long socks they draw upon their legs,

drawn nearely to the tops of their thighs;

we smooth the walkways through those flowerbeds, and arbors, and copses

so that they can frolic there without the least of need for shoes.


All of this, they claim, is the beauty and polity of Jacaere, the lavender planet.


We abandoned our bodies for fear that death would ultimately take them.

The grandeur that could have ours for the taking

is reduced to servile facilitation of their lovemaking.

The Superficials have inherited our privileges.



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