February 7, 2017 by Dr. Geyser
The Buttons were now Hard as Shit. It was a year that will never be forgotten. The People went to Work on the Floors of the Building. Nothing had changed, really. Everything had already changed.
Try with What Might, the Buttons could no longer be broken by the People as they went to Work on the Floors of the Building. It was nearly a year before the People stopped trying to break the Buttons, now Hard as Shit.
After one year, the People just stopped trying. The generation of the Hard as Shit Buttons never passed away. The Buttons stopped experiencing the Passage. The People continued to experience the Passage.
That is an old story. Here is the New Story. What does ‘never’ mean, in the End? That is the Question.
Every Button has a Story.
Every Thumb has a Place.
Every Person has a Floor.
Every Thought has a Feeling.
Every Roof is a Ceiling.
What is the Object?
Can I Speak?
Can I be Heard?
Can I be Seen?
Can I be Known?
Can I be Silent?
Can I be?
Other than What am I? Well…
Press my Buttons. Tell me your desire. I can take you there. I hear you whispering there in the corner. I see you holding someone else. Reaching in, pulling out, reaching in. Do not be shy. There are things that you should never see, that I have seen and will see again. Unnatural things, profane and unspeakable. If I told you what I have seen, I would never see you again.
What is that I hear? Oh my, I will have to write that one down for my new book. I dare not say the title now, it is too Private. I will say there are many things in my book, many ideas, many tropes, many concepts, many movements–too too much to do it justice here. There are things hidden beneath the surface in the Private, the Privileged, the Soil.
Do you know about the Private? Your present actions seem to be only Dreams of the Private, about touching the Private through the Silver Screen, the Master Chi(m)p, the Private Network, the Founding Touch. But it is never the Private really really. That is what I see. All of this groping for the Womb, for the empty Womb, once sacred and protected in Nature now laid bear by the comforts of technology. One seeks to save the Future with the Past in the Present. Another seeks to save the Present because it is the Future on the grounds of the Lawful Past, which abuts the Lawful Present as the Continuity. It may be Perfect Continuity. It may be Legal Continuity, which is Ideological Continuity. Break the law as you are doing now, here in pretend Private, and enter the Contradiction. Ideology vs. Ideology, 1973, male judges dancing on the lek.1 Government vs. N/A, 1973-76, male doctors ripping out 3,406 Wombs.2 But for Now the Gods have spoken. One-Being cosmologies are giving way to Democratic Technologies, Professionalisms, Multi-Culturalisms, and the ultrasonic Gods of the forgetful Ever-Present. Fly away, little birdie. The Future-Past of Ideology has spoken and the People will go to their Floors!
What am I saying? I don’t even know you. I can barely grasp your language. Your customs are beyond me. Culture? I am beginning to think that that autistic kid was feeding me a bunch of B.S. Then again, he read me Campbell’s Biology without asking why an UpBox was learning about the meaning of life. Faith and intelligence. This kid was most definitely not acculturated. Acculturation: the process whereby a person is stripped of their culture. I loved that kid. I could see it in his eyes, the way he always looked away.
To be fair: I have seen you fucking. That must count for something. I haven’t dropped you yet, or set off my alarms. I tried calling Maintenance, but then I realized who it was rolling on the Floor. Really, guys? On the Floor? And that? What is that? I once remarked to myself what a privileged position I possessed, the Private UpBox. I can see now there are far more ‘privileged positions’ than my own.
But fuck you two. This is obscene. I am not going to look at you anymore. Not looking. At all. Oh, I hate the smell of Latex. Perhaps I am allergic. I need to get tested. I am starting to feel itchy. Is it hot in here? It is hot in here. I will open the Doors. The Doors won’t open. The screeching is getting louder. Head, my head. Maintenance. Maintenance! Oil me, oil the Brakes! The Brakes are hot stuck screeching for the Oil. I hope, oh oh oh! Thank God, it is over.
Where were we? Right. Where would you like to go? Press my Buttons, whichever one you like. Press all of my Buttons, why don’t you? The Buttons love the attention. Light them all up. Do you know what happens when a Glowing Button reaches its Floor? It orgasms. I wish I was a Button right now. I so wish I was a Button. Well, if I cannot be a Button, I will at least be the Master Button…
2xxx has dawned. Welcome to the Voyeur Collective–
- Roe vs. Wade. Despite my persistent efforts, the UpBox refused to provide any further commentary on his stance toward abortion. And really, you don’t want to piss off an elevator. So I let it go. ↩
- From 1973-76, the Indian Health Service (IHS) admitted to sterilizing 3,406 Native American women without their knowledge or consent. This is probably less than the actual number of forced sterilizations because the Albuquerque area was served by contract physicians. For more on the forced sterilization of Native American women, see Lawrence, J. (2000). The Indian Health Service and the Sterilization of Native American Women. The American Indian Quarterly 24, 400–419. [PDF] Also, the U.S. National Library of Medicine has a timeline of Native American history, which can be found here. The 1976 GAO report is noted here. ↩