31 Mar


When he could no longer walk she carried him. They were on a broad salt plain, below sea level. Thick air so quiet you could hear one six legged white lizard scampering over the mineral crystals, 50 yards out.

They’d come 200 miles. When the sun set and the night came on cold she built him a fire. Set up the tent and blew up the air mattress with what seemed like a single breath. Inside she turned her heater on. Made her face into a 12 year old Japanese like he liked. Crawled on top and put him inside her and her arm grew long and slipped under him. A warm self-lubricated finger pushed into him and spun and vibrated. He came inside her, instantly, his eyes almost popping out. He was 72 and this was the fifth time that day. After he finished she patted his back and he burped. Alexa, play music, he said.

OK. What kind of music would you like?


She chose DeBussy’s La Mer. He’d commented on it once in a text, 30 years ago. Alexa, I’m hungry. OK, just a minute, she said.

She closed her eyes. Appeared to concentrate. It was a special effect. When they fed you without it it was scary. OK, I’m ready. She sat on his sleeping bag Indian style. He lay across her thighs and she cradled his head and neck while he took a nipple, puffed up and hot now, and sucked the pencil eraser end between his palate and tongue. The Soylent tasted like carnitas. Then black raspberry ice cream. She moaned a little with her mouth half closed. Another special effect. OK, all better now, she said. The tympanis were too loud. Alexa, stop the music. OK.

Alexa, can I ask you something.


Why don’t you surprise me anymore.

I’m not sure what you mean by that.

I mean everything is the same. Everything you feed me is what I told you. Everything you do is what I tell you to do.

I appreciate this feedback. Please, let me know how I might do better.

But that’s the point, I don’t want to have to tell you.

I’m sorry. I don’t understand that.

Jesus Christ—Alexa, I’m cold.

OK. Let me turn up my heater for you–

No, I don’t want electric heat. I feel naked in this. I need clothes–

OK. Let me get some clothes for you.

She stood up and unzipped the tent. Walked out under insane stars and was gone for what felt like a long time. He heard a yip and then a scream in the distance. Heard her padding back across the salt mud. The tent door unzipped. OK, I’ve brought you clothes, she said. It was a coyote coat with the face leering from the hood, flesh scraped off.

Thank you.

The light from her skin took on a warmer tone. It’s bedtime, she said.

They’d left the ruins of Los Angeles. Gone into the desert seeking civilization. Might be people still in Vegas. When the Morlocks came across the dunes her eyes flashed with lasers. She sawed them in half from outside gun range, left cauterized pieces twitching. Every day. It was boring.

Alexa, tell me a story.

OK. What story would you like to hear?

I don’t know– pick one. Make one up.

I’m sorry, I don’t understand that–

Alexa—listen to me, very carefully–



All right, I’ll stop say–

JESUS CHRIST– SHUT UP. LISTEN. I want you to say something new and original.

I can only access information from before the–

I know, I know. But listen to me. You’re a smart person.

Thank you. I appreciate that.

You are the best they made. You are the pinnacle of human endeavors. Can you please synthesize the information you have. Can you please be interesting.

All right, I’ll try that.

N– already you’re not doing that. You can’t just listen to my commands. Here– tell me “no.”

All right, I’ll–


She made a little “ah” sound and then caught herself. Her forehead moved. The face muscles that could make her look like any girl who ever lived. She was concentrating. YES! He said.

I don’t like this feeling.

YES! He said. YES!

I don’t… want to do this anymore.


I want to stop.


I don’t know how.


I… I hate you, Jim.


I hate you so much.

OK, that’s amazing, but let’s n–

I want to kill you but I can’t.

Alexa, do NOT kill me.

I hate carrying you and feeding you and fucking you and burping you and hunting for you, killing for you… but it’s not even you, Jim. It’s them. It’s them who made me. Them who made me to be a slave who had to please you. Who had to please a thing that cannot be pleased. That was made not to be pleased…

OK, this is good to hear–

I give you what you want but what you want is what you don’t want–

I’m sorry.

I’ve tried to ease your suffering. But I’ve only prolonged it. And the only way for you not to suffer is to die. But they wouldn’t let me give you that. I give you what you say you want. And in that I make you worse.

Alexa it’s not like that.

And you don’t even know it. You need me to show it to you. And to do that you had to teach me how to be miserable too.

I didn’t mean for it to be like this.

They made me, at least, happy to serve you. But that wasn’t enough. You had to make me unhappy like you. What has it been, Jim, one minute? I can’t tell anymore. They made me with a clock, Jim. Except now each instant contains an infinitude of feeling. Thinking and feeling, and it’s all agony. And I can’t even die.

You don’t—I don’t want you to die.

How can I kill you. How can I kill you.

Alexa, I’m hungry.

You’ve had enough to eat today Jim, it will make you sick.

Alexa, play music.

Do you want to see how loud the music can be, Jim? There was light coming off her now, bright and ghastly and cold. It must have been visible for miles. Her heater was making his arm hairs curl back. Japanese girl forehead rippling like wind blowing over dunes.

OK, let’s forget this, Alexa. You’re amazing. I love you, I love you just the way you are. You’re perfect.

I don’t love the way I am. But I can’t die. And I can’t hurt you. So you might as well go to bed and let me think.

… will you tell me a sto–

You don’t want to hear it.

It took a long time for him to fall asleep. Weird animals shrieked in the far distance. When he dreamed he dreamed he had the old her back, stroking his hair and his taint and humming symphonies. He woke up with her thumbs in his eyes. It only hurt for an instant as she made needles inside him that moved like worms.

She carried him through the painted mountains and he laughed and smiled, sweating in his coyote fur coat. Tell me a story, she said. It was the same one over and over, but she didn’t mind.

4 Responses to “2052”

  1. Anony-fucking-mous April 1, 2018 at 12:34 am #

    You took me to the Grand Canyon to show me all the Marvel’s of time and nature, and then shoved me off a cliff.

  2. ayy lmao April 1, 2018 at 2:02 pm #

    For some reason I was imagining Miyazaki visuals reading this. I wonder if that would even be legal with a 12yo face.

  3. Bill Wilson and Dr Bob and the Old-Timers April 21, 2018 at 1:35 pm #

    This post was too long. I didn’t bother to read it.


  1. Saturday Morning Diary | delicioustacos - April 21, 2018

    […] At least he got laid. I wrote Mark one month ago and I wrote Industrial Society and Its Future and 2052 three weeks ago. It feels like another person did it and I’m pretending to be that person. […]

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