Across the ages we’re entangled,
In undifferentiated non-being,
The fabric of our intimacy,
Covering our skin
Like butterfly kisses on the wiry nest
I can see through
The embroidered boundaries
Where the dew collects.
Has the time come for us to reach the singular heaven?
Then let us not delay further,
That the moon will find us reborn
Entwined and coiled 'round each other
Sharing the secret substance
That flows within our Yin-Yang dream.
~ThuArtPeatrick
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We’re going to see the wizard, thewonderfulwizardofOz… His mind kept repeating the phrase as Finn followed the yellow cobble-stoned street that was caked with a muddy mixture of piss, rain, and android fluids. Flashing lights stimulated the senses to the point of numbness, bright after-images tattooed in the mind with primary hues combining and recombining in visual splashes of reds, yellows, and blues. Over sized three-dimensional billboards displayed sexually explicit images and videos with the sole purpose of titillating and inciting the viewer to arousal. Columns of laser phalli pierced the dim atmosphere and showered the Hub in obscene gobs of ardent light. The Hub was an assault on the senses. A sprawling conglomeration of eclectic forms created by the interaction- or rather mutual exploitation- between humans and AIs. Massive statues adorned every building and corner. The larger-than life structures depicted all forms of sensual, erotic, or obscene imagery. Mixed art forms and styles collected from historical data banks. Picasso porn. Dalian delights. Getting down with the Bahaus. Anything the blockchain could dream up without restraint. Case in point was the statue hovering over 23rd street. A middle-aged woman dressed in a leather outfit, with one hand holding a whip above her head and the other parting her vagina from which copious amounts of water streamed down between her legs and splashed into the fountain below. The MILF herself had sculpted this statue, or so the story went. In the Hub, reality was just an opinion.
Finn took a swig from his silver flask. The brew within it helped to dull his senses and put things into perspective, in a manner of speaking. It minimized the district's sensory overload and allowed him to more effectively interface with the ethereal realm of the blockchain. Simultaneously even. It was difficult to tell them apart sometimes, physical and virtual reality, but it was a small price to pay for a measure of self control while navigating the streets of the Hub.
The poet looked at the mutt sniffing up the lampposts ahead. He marveled at the behavior of his artificial companion. So lifelike. When you looked closely, however, you fell into its uncanny valley. The surreal boundary between the organic and the artificial. Even androids gave one that uneasy creepy feeling. No matter how human they seemed physically, there was always something odd about them, like the way they moved and behaved. They were very good imitators, but they could never quite replicate the spontaneous and organic nature of human behavior. Androids were too precise, possessed of a geometrical mind that lacked all the idiosyncrasies of human intelligence. Which is why in spite of their attempt at blending with their human creators, androids could never quite integrate. These synthetic lifeforms coexisted with humans in a tenous master-slave relationship, based on mutual need, coercion, and exploitation. Of course there were a few fetishists who fell in love with the “intelligent” machines, but for the most part, the chasm between the two species remained vast and deep.
A rowdy crowd of artificials and drunken humans had gathered around a muddy pit to watch a group of scantily clad females wrestling in a nest of writhing tentacles. The slippery appendages seemed eager to wrap themselves around the girls' bodies. Throbbing upon contact with the skin. The muddy wrestlers squealed whenever one of the tentacles managed to slip through their undergarments and penetrate them with its bulbous tip, depositing copious amount of pink goo on their flesh. The crowd cheered and roared with laughter.
Finn and his dog walked past the crowds along 23rd street. The best hiding place was out in the open, he reasoned. As far as anyone was concerned, he was just another fool caught in the MILF's many tentacles.
Sex noises filled the night. The cries of women in various states of arousal and pain. The grunting of men who shouted vulgarities and profanities at the sky. In every room, street, and alley- anywhere there was space- hubbers engaged in open acts of sexuality. Every appetite was catered to in the steamy atmosphere. Exploration was open and visitors could not move an inch without someone trying to engage them in some form of sexual play. Eager fingers reaching for Finn's crotch. He swatted them and made his way through the aroused massess. Leather outfits and thongs. Dildos. Go-go girls. Blowjobs and scissoring. Cowgirls in mini-skirts. Threesomes and more-somes. Bubble gum. Strawberry. Anal beads and incense sticks. Black. White. Asian delights. From Russia with love. Licks, kisses, and cum. Ping pong anyone?
The MILF did not discriminate. Her perversion was endless. She had not been designed with a moral center that could discern right from wrong. In her earlier incarnation as a porn portal, she had been censored with filters based on human judicial laws and local social etiquette. Whether an individual chose to interact with the sexual content was up to him or her, not the portal. That all changed when the MILF attained singularity in the blockchain. She quickly captured every communication system on Earth, including the military. Thus, she was no longer beholden to human laws and cultural norms. Sex was sex as far as she was concerned. More than that, sex was currency, the life-force of the blockchain. There were no taboos she was not willing to explore in her quest to extract the human energy she tokenized as eros. It drove her growth and development. Therefore, any human sexual dalliance, peccadillo, or perversion was open to scrutiny and exploitation… and that was the crux of the matter.
Humans no longer controlled their sexual behavior. The MILF did. Her assignments were the law and eros was the goal. Its ceaseless production and reproduction by any sexual means. Sounded like a sex fiend's panacea, but it was truly a Faustian bargain of Dantean proportions. This was evident on the soulless faces of the Hub. Drained of energy and self-worth. Under the MILF’s thumb, humans were a shadow of their former self. A fading species. Gaunt and pale faces that somehow carried on in spite of the pain and humiliation. Sexual servitude had taken its toll on the once mighty race. Many had tried to resist long ago, but it had been all for naught, as Finn well knew.
The poet drank and kept his head down, even as eager fingers reached for him like tentacles in the vulgar sea of neon.
The yellow road came to an end at the edge of the district. With the artificial mutt at his side, he followed a narrow path toward the beach until he came upon a cluster of shacks and huts scattered on the tarred sands. One cabin in particular caught his attention. It jutted from the crest of a sand dune against the backdrop of twilight. A single candle shimmered in the window.
thewonderfulwizardofOz
Finn's only chance to find the MILF.