Amerika Online

Lettre Lettre On The Wall

Mark Amerika


just back from the net-lit groupie scene of 
Berlin London Chicago New York Providence Durham 
Sydney Santa Cruz Perth Cologne Linz Rome Florence 
Milan Freiburg Vienna Leipzig Boston Brisbane
Adelaide Graz Denver Kassel San Francisco et al

toking in the killer burbs of Boulder

heat & wheatgrass & personalized gymnastics

no hamburg(er) connection
but totally french-fried.


her lips were thick and her tongue painted
wild brushstrokes all over my swollen

it felt like the endless thrust of a mobile chunnel
funneling some rare form of liquid desire
straight into the deep north of a throat
caught on fire

her dream-narrative "glom"-ing onto something serene

(something like me)

the interiorized Netscape




(but then I finally made it home

			saved by the Belle:

					softhard babybody -- can hide inside it all night long) 

woke up
totally in touch with nature's own imagination
crystallizing some fossilized moment of Timelessness
streaming through my recently upgraded Sexual-Blood technology --

The Ecological Conscience:
dragged out kicking.  

Blue Sky sending me email telling me how caught up she was
in the hot love lava of last night

meanwhile, go to the Ped Mall and, looking up
see smegma skies smeared
with birkenstock tofu 
rolled in a whole wheat tortellini

(with a side of testosteroni, pure noodle-think:
		balls to the walls)


another potential environmental crisis forming in my pants

(maybe it was just a zit, but it felt more like a small welt:  MADE ME HARDER)


a polemical stress factor

(40% of the people surveyed said they DON'T believe me
but they still dig my style and think it's okay for me to receive blowjobs)


a lettered nuance 

(Dear A, I want to swallow you -- Love, Your Personal Slut)

and then

in the middle

in the middle of the breach:

there were machines

fast, cheap & out of control

machines made of Capital 

Capital Integrity

(oxy moron?  yes.  but does it get rid of ass-maligned zits?)

by the buy

(Dear A, You owe me the fucking world and now it looks as though 
I've got you by the balls, Hero-Boy.  I think it's time you just face reality 
and totally give in -- Love, Daddy Nanobucks).

Yesterday was great.  Two things of note happened:

1. A round of post-contemporary classical behavior 
(insinuated by the in-betweeness of emotion created 
by the absolute presence of an eerie ambience called 
Post-Industrial Info-Banality).  I played sex-chess 
with a Full-Moon Night In Shiny Armor (patent leather
skinreflections:  holes cut out to expose the febrile flesh:  
my meat amore).   She mated me, I mated her.  Queen.  
Rook.  Check.  Check Again. Non-Stop Checking Until, 
Finally, Checkmate.  Total Ejaculation.  Death of a pawn.

2. Just spawning (surfing -- sampling -- manipulating).

		"I take my data with me.  My
		biological means.  That way, any
		body wants to corrupt me, they
		gotta take my soul."  


(The object of this letter is to become a business plan.  
A press release.  A nationally-registered trademark.)

Can you believe this is a letter telling the story of a doctored 
artifact created by something called a Network Publisher?  

Where were you in 1993?

Anyway, I'm off on my next World Tour:  I want to bring my ax, 
my girl, my troupe of asyntactical stars inmixing desire.   

But I have to travel light -- a carry-on bag and a zip disk.

What a life.