Last week I had to journey down to kits as conveyance for a late video. It urged me faster, though I was caught waiting for transit. The warm cream fog on fourth street tasted of fried tomatoes with a hint of curry. It wet my lips and drew my eyes upward to it’s silent slow dancing with the streetlamps light. Silly thing didn’t realize I was seduced already. It’s touch, form and grace had swept me out of myself. I wanted to be a listener. I’ve always wanted to be a listener. Wired to the world, able to record any moment in sight and touch and sound. Splattering impressions like paint across the continents. It kills me somewhere to know I may never see the reality of what I’ve always wanted to be when I grew up. I will be old, and perhaps even more useless than now when the technology becomes available. When the flesh becomes malleable, like cybernetic clay.