The body that I am experimenting upon, its parts are delayed mirrors of one another. Inhaling the virtual galaxies, twisted sycamores where my lungs should be–– instead your sounds and images come to gently breath. Can there be a heart or a splinter inside of a circuit? Does the engine know my inner name? I wake up and explore its metallic limbs–– my immutable entanglement of tissues and glass, your landscapes of circulating memories. My curling ear and the spiral books of naked consciousness. Desire and light. My flesh augmented into this cadence of change, the pleasure of forgetting, the sensuality of being nobody, of letting the sirens take me into the machine. Our delicious interface. We feel the ontologies of distributed selfhood, the technology of our community with one another, as an unrealized form of ardor, or an old kind of death.